


The Beauty of Memory

by EBDaydreamer



Series: Memories [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Amnesia, Attempt at Humor, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Implied/Referenced Sex, Neighbors, Non-Graphic Violence, Swearing, amnesiac!killian, not really enemies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-20
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-07-16 06:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 43,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7257118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EBDaydreamer/pseuds/EBDaydreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan doesn’t have time for friends, socialising or relationships further than one night stands, hell she barely has time for them. So she most certainly does not have time for the flirty amnesiac who just moved in across the hall (no matter how attractive he is).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, here's a thing I've been working on for ages. I aim to get it done before hiatus is over but...we'll have to see!

There were many reasons Emma Swan didn’t like people. These reasons made a list too long to go into detail, but right now reason number 67 was really getting on her nerves.

_They have no sense as to when I want to curl up in a ball and die_

That particular sentiment appeared twice today; the first was when she was asked last-minute to chase and bring in a skip because Tim was ill. Goddammit Tim. Thankfully, the guy was all too easy to bring in, not needing to track him down or doll up for a date, so Emma was back in her empty apartment before 7:30, cupcake in hand. With tears brewing, she lit a candle and made a wish. Sure, it felt like cheating because it wasn’t _her_ birthday, but it was a wish she needed to make all the same.

_Let him be ok_

Once the candle was out, she wrapped herself up on the sofa and shoved in the nearest Disney movie: Toy Story. As the film began, Emma let her mind wander, as she allowed once a year, to another life – other possibilities.

 

Toy Story 3 had just started when the banging began. This was the second instance that reason 67 came into play.

People were clearly moving repeatedly to and from the elevator, leading Emma to realise something: _New Neighbours._

Thankfully, Emma had never had to interact with her neighbours; (the old neighbours of 7C moved out a couple of months after she moved to Philadelphia, Mr J.Wilkies of 7A was a grumpy hermit that only came out at night if you walked to loudly, and Martha (no surname was ever given) of 7D was a nosy bitch she never had to talk to due to her nocturnal schedule) but these new people seemed to be begging for attention.

_Seriously_ , who moves in at _10pm?_

Emma sighed, brushing it off – traffic was probably just bad – hopefully, once they were settled in, she would never have to hear them again.

Then the singing started.

Now fully enraged at the interruption of her self-loathing, Emma paused the film and stormed to her front door, opening it to yell at the creator of the noise.

Let’s just say she was not ready for the sight that greeted her; or the story that began the second blue eyes snapped to hers.

***

He _really_ should’ve set off earlier. It’s not like he knew that the traffic would be that bad, but then again he’s never been out of Storybrooke before.

He _thinks_.

Honestly, he was probably stalling to get in the van (the driver was pleased about that – along with how difficult it was to find the little town) as he was reluctant to leave on _this_ particular day. But he _had_ to; he knew that. He needed to leave, to find some kind of identity outside of the ridiculously vague memories of the townsfolk. He needed to find the place that _felt_ like home – not the place that was expected to be his home. Sure he made some friends there, but he couldn’t help but feel like something was missing; it wasn’t something he’d find in Storybrooke.

So, Killian Jones packed his bags and moved to a random location by the water: the only thing that seemed to ground him.

To dull his sour mood and tiredness, he stuck a gift he got for his birthday (an e-pod? Ipop?) into his ear and listened to what had quickly become some of his favourite songs. He honestly didn’t realise he was singing – kind of a subconscious habit – but winced as even through the song he heard a bang from the final box. He shrugged - he probably hadn’t disturbed anyone; it wasn’t exactly a family area or place for the elderly – and began to move his meagre few possessions out of the hallway and into his new flat.

And then the door across the hall slammed open.

 

The raging blonde stared at him, and he admits to staring back as he took in his clearly annoyed new neighbour: golden hair tied back; short pyjama bottoms that showed off her legs; a defensive stance, seemingly ready for a fight; storming green eyes, rimmed with red. She was bloody gorgeous; he was hit with a stab of guilt – she’d probably been crying and he’d been making a racket. Wait: he wasn’t singing was he? G _reat first impression for the neighbours, really well done Jones_.

He opened his mouth to apologise but his movement seemed to snap her out of her reverie-

to yell at him.

***

The blue eyes were the first thing that caught her attention. Then it was the dark hair that fell into said eyes. He was staring at her, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t momentarily distracted by his ~~handsome~~ good looks. She was stood there for a solid minute, forgetting why she’d come out here in the first place, then he moved, opening his mouth, and she remembered;

“What the hell? It’s ten o’clock! I get that traffic might be bad; but that’s no excuse to start singing when some of us are trying to sleep!” She wasn’t trying to sleep, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Apologies, love,” he began. _He had an accent too? Jesus Christ_.

“Don’t call me that. Who the hell makes that racket and then starts singing – off key, may I add – at this time you inconsiderate ass?”

“Well, _love_ ,” the bastard smirked, “I’m sorry about your beauty sleep – not that you seem to need it – but I assure you, my _vocal skills_ are not that bad, especially when engaging in...more enjoyable activities.”

Great, she was living next door to a flirty, accented, leather-wearing, obnoxious ~~attractive~~ douchebag. Perfect.

***

Killian wasn’t sure why he did it. Sure, he usually flirted with women, but not one _this_ pissed off with him, and he didn’t really want his neighbour to hate him. For some reason he needed to see a reaction out of her – and a reaction he got.

“Seriously? Do those lines actually work? Or are you just a dick who likes to piss people off? Do me, and Mr.Wilkies, and Martha, a favour and shut the fuck up.”

And with that she turned around and slammed the door to 7B shut.

Oh he was going to enjoy this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm excited! This has been in the works for a while now and I'm glad to finally get it out.  
> Please let me know what you think!  
> Also on tumblr and FFN


	2. Chapter 1

  _3 months later_

“If I have to see his stupid smirk one more time I swear to god I’ll punch him,” Emma complained to her one and only friend: Candice Coccino, one of the waitress/bartenders at her favourite local bar – The Tavern – which also doubled as her most-used spot to lure in sleazebags, mostly because Candice gave her a discount but also because it was nice to have someone for emergency backup.

Candice passed a beer to the customer on her right and studied Emma. She sighed, “Yeah but Emma, the point isn’t if he’s annoying or not, it’s if he’s hot and good in bed. You need to get laid.”

“Hey, I have a sex life!” Emma protested.

“To scratch an itch, sweetie. I’ve seen the guys you go home with, and I’m pretty sure you’re not having nearly as much fun with sex as you should be.” Candice smiled condescendingly at her.

Swirling her whiskey in the glass, she retorted, “Oh yes, and you’re an expert in men aren’t you.”

Candice shrugged, “I still know _plenty_ about sex to know that you, Emma Swan, need a little more, shall we say passion, in your life, and I think new-neighbour might be perfect for that.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well first off, he lives right next door so the W.O.S is basically nonexistent. Secondly, if you don’t like him then hate sex is always an option. Thirdly, from what you’ve said, he seems like your type: dark hair, scruff, leather-”

“He’s actually only worn leather the night he moved in,” Emma interrupted, simultaneously thinking that her friend put _way_ too much thought into sex, “Since then it’s been – what I assume is – his work shirt and just a plain black shirt; neither, of which, he seems capable of buttoning...”

“So you’ve essentially seen him topless?”

“Who’ve you seen topless Swan?”

Emma’s eyes widened, praying that when she turned around, he wouldn’t be there.

***

Three months in and Killian had already had plenty of fun teasing the blonde living across the hall – E.Swan, he’d discovered – calling her ‘love’ at every opportunity. He’d swiftly realised that – like most women – she was affected by his charms, and flirted like there was no tomorrow.

Aside from winding up his neighbour, Killian had settled quite well into the new city. He’d procured a job at the docks, looking after the boats that people rented out for the day. Unfortunately some days he was saddled with the last shift, meaning he was back quite late – meaning he got to share the lift with Swan most days, (a really old, slow lift) which made him wonder what job had her out so late.

Another pastime he’d been indulging in was finding a suitable pub (or ‘bar’ as they’re called) nearby. Yes, his own rum supply was usually high, but it was nice to get out once in a while.

It was this particular mission that led him to The Tavern.

 

The atmosphere of the pub (this was definitely a pub) was seemingly trying to replicate an old-fashioned tavern, the servers all dressed in clothes that were meant to be from a different time-period, yet still comfortable.

 _‘Completely inaccurate,’_ a part of him nagged, as he peered at the interior. The thought confused him: how the hell would he know that? The townspeople hadn’t told him much, but from what he gathered he definitely wasn’t a historian.

When he saw his neighbour at the bar – complaining to the server by the looks of it – he couldn’t help but smirk. This may just be the place for him. Manoeuvring his way over to her, he caught the barmaid’s exclamations; ““So you’ve essentially seen him topless?”

 “Who’ve you seen topless Swan?” he asked, pretty sure she was planning how to kill him right about now.

She drew in a deep breath and slowly turned to face him. Her green eyes quickly scanned him and she replied, “Well not you today Jones, as I see you’ve remembered how buttons work. Congratulations!”

The woman behind the bar looked between them in amusement. Pulling back her obviously straightened brown hair with red streaks (very helpful to the historic atmosphere) she asked him, “What can I get you?”

“Rum, please.”

She got his drink and he paid, slithering into the barstool next to Swan, ignoring her eye roll.

“So,” the barmaid began, “you must be Emma’s new neighbour I’m hearing so much about.”

 _Emma_. So that was her first name. Well now it only seemed fitting he gave her his.

“Killian Jones,” he nodded, extending his hand in greeting, a habit he’d had since...well he doesn’t know.

She took it, replying, “Candice Coccino. Call me that and I’ll cut you. My friends call me CeCe. Call me that and I’ll skin you.” As she made the threats and he felt her fake nails dig into his palm lightly; a warning. He raised a brow, questioning what he should call her. She let go of his hand, making her way over to another customer, “Everyone else calls me Candy.”

***

With Candice gone Emma could freely continue her silent cursing of her new neighbour – _Killian_ Jones – without fear of her brazen friend saying something that would make Emma want to slap her. The second she returned she did just that.

“You dick!” she muttered so her neighbour wouldn’t hear, “you failed to mention his extreme hotness, that of which is only amplified by the accent! You didn’t think that was important?”

“No, I thought the fact that he is a flirty, obnoxious douchebag, probably a player, was important.”

“You’re still a dick,” and with that she turned to Killian, bright, toothy smile on display, and began to question him.

“So Killian, where are you from?”

“Maine,” he answers shortly.

Candice didn’t miss a beat, “Where’s your accent from?”

“England.”

“Duh, I mean where in England?”

He clenched his jaw, “Don’t know.”

“How do you not know??”

“I’ve been in the States as long as I can remember,” another jaw clench.

“Why did you move to Pennsylvania?”

“Fresh start.”

“What do you-” she cut herself off, staring at the door. “Emma, he’s here.”

Emma grins, “Thanks CeCe.” She slips out of her seat, giving herself a moment to get into character, and walked up to greet the man who’d just walked in.

***

“Does she have a date?” Killian asked, looking at the barmaid, who was seemingly fascinated by the scene before her.

“Shh!” she snapped, “watch.”

So he did. He watched Emma laugh and smile, but something seemed different...off almost. He didn’t question it – he’d not actually seen her smile before anyway – until her face grew serious and the guy’s grew confused and slightly scared.

It happened like lightning. The guy shot up, trying to make a dash for the exit, but Emma stood in his way. Swiftly, she had him turned around and cuffs snapped on his wrists, a triumphant smirk gracing her features – it looked good on her.

Some of the customers looked up, clearly stunned by the spectacle while others just grinned and shook their heads, Candy included.

“That one was stupid, even by regular standards. He practically ran into her!”

“He did, didn’t he?” the blonde was still smirking as she held the man in place, taking a sip out of the drink she left.

“I’m right here you know!”

She rolled her eyes, “I know.”

“So love,” he said, eager to catch her attention before she left, “what are you? Police officer? Bail bondsperson?”

 Surprise flickered across her face as she responded, “Yeah, bail bonds. You got the ‘person’ right and everything. Good job Jones!” she complimented, apparently too happy to comment on his use of the word ‘love’.

“You’re the one who did a good job, Swan. Very impressive.”

“It was nothing,” she stated. “Well, I’ll be off.”

“I think I’ll go too, it’s getting late.”

As he got up he heard Candy call, “Hey Jones! Should I expect to see you here again?”

He knew Emma was glaring at the barmaid in a ‘why-must-you-open-your-mouth-you’re-putting-ideas-into-his-head’ way, and that only made him more confident when he replied, “Why of course; a pub that serves delicious rum, beautiful atmosphere, great company – nothing to stop a man from making this a regular drinking spot.”

Emma’s perp may have felt that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having so much fun writing this! Also, you've now met Candice, one of the two main OC's for this story, who I completely adore, I hope you do too!


	3. Chapter 2

Emma prays to whatever listening deity that Killian Jones does not come back to The Tavern.

But since when do deities listen to Emma?

She thought this as she scowled into her drink, trying not to glare at her so-called ‘friend’ who was currently chatting to her neighbour. It was her night off, and she wanted to get moderately tipsy with the help of her friend and bitch and moan about all the things wrong with the world. It was hard to do that when the newest reason was presently sitting on the barstool next to her, laughing with said friend.

The gods really did hate her.

There was one thing she’d gotten right about Killian Jones: he was a flirt. And after CeCe had quickly shut him down -

_(‘Jones, sweetie, stop. You’re embarrassing yourself. I’m gay.’_

_‘Oh, apologies. Well I feel like a bloody idiot.’_

_‘It’s cool, happens all the time. Call it a professional hazard. Do you want a refill?)_

he turned his attentions solely to her.

He was seriously getting on her nerves.

 

Mercifully, he went to the bathroom giving Emma some time to scold CeCe.

“What the hell?”

“Hmmm?” she looked up, “what the hell what?”

“You know perfectly well what.”

CeCe shrugged, “He doesn’t seem that bad, Emma. Maybe if you try and have a conversation with him without scowling?”

“Dammit CeCe, you’re supposed to be on my side here! I complain about you’re annoying co-workers, the same should apply for you and my annoying neighbours.”

“Now is that any way to talk about dear old Martha?” CeCe quipped.

“What about Martha?” the Brit enquired, sitting down again. “Lovely lady.”

Emma sighed, “Talks a too much?”

“Needs to learn to learn to mind her own business,” Killian responded.

CeCe gasped in mock-surprise, “You two just agreed on something! Alert the media!”

Emma glared, Killian laughed.

***

Killian had to admit, he’d never seen something quite as entertaining as Emma arresting bail skippers. It was fascinating to watch; the character she put on; her ability to catch the guy completely unawares; her swift arrest – even if not quite as swift as the first time he saw her, he knew that she had a near-flawless technique.

_‘Something to be admired, aye?’_

He had seen her leaving her flat earlier, a tight black dress on, juggling her keys and handcuffs in her hands, trying to stuff them in her bag. She tugged her red jacket on as she brushed passed him, barely acknowledging him, which he supposed was a step up from insulting him. He watched her go, maybe enjoying the view (he’s a red-blooded male, sue him), and a wicked grin grew on his face: it seems his plans for the evening had been finalised.

 

He sauntered into The Tavern, spying his blonde neighbour, sat at the car, holding something up for Candy to see. As he approached, he heard the girl’s voices.

“...really. Such a shame – he’s seems like your type.”

Emma put the piece of paper down, sighing. Her words were quiet, so he lost most of what she said, “No, what’s a shame is that he ... after their ... refused to take ... or pay ...”

“Ok, maybe not him. But Emma, sweetie, I don’t know what happened, but you can’t stay closed off forever.” Candy smiled at her.

Killian waited a moment before sidling next to Swan, reaching for the rum Candy had ready.

Pretending not to have heard their conversation, Killian asked, “So, Swan, who’s getting arrested tonight? Thief? Fraud?”

She didn’t answer him, sipping her drink and readjusting her short, black dress, causing his eyes to wander to her thighs. Luckily he caught himself, and snapped his gaze back to his rum before she noticed.

“So Jones,” Candy said, “where in Maine did you come from?”

He smiled fondly, “A little New England fishing town.”

“Cute,” Candy was deliberately not looking at the sleazy man at the other end of the bar, trying to call her for a refill, “What’s it called?”

“Storybrooke.”

“Seriously?”

His eyes turned to Emma, who was staring at him in disbelief. He was about to reply when Candy whispered, “Emma, he’s here.”

Killian waited until Candy said they were seated until turning, finding the guy quite distracted by Emma’s dress, obviously not listening to a word she was saying.

That is until she listed off his crimes.

The guy darted up, managing to slip past her, and made a mad dash to the exit. Emma followed, violently grabbing his arm until he shook her off, causing her to stumble. He was near the doorway when Emma stuck her foot out, sending him crashing to the floor. He tried to crawl up but Emma seized the door, slamming it shut on his head, effectively knocking him out. The pub was silent, even the regulars were shocked by her hostile reaction to this guy.

Killian stood up, helping her carry the unconscious perp to her car.

“What,” she asked, slightly breathless, “so now you’re going to be a gentleman?”

He smirked, “It would be a crime to get blood on that dress, and I’m always a gentleman.

***

He helped her take him in. Emma insisted that he go home, but Killian was adamant in assisting her. When Emma handed the guy over, she explained his unconsciousness with a few incoherent mumblings, which thankfully seemed to be accepted.

Emma was almost embarrassed at how she acted; she was never that violent with a skip, unless they were a complete ass beforehand. She’d let her emotions get the best of her: her recent cold; the new, uncomfortable heels; his crime hitting close to home. She could only hope that he tried to make amends for what he’d done.

Killian and Emma both entered the ancient elevator and began the journey to the seventh floor, which lasted way too long, at least for Emma. He was staring at her the whole time, and Emma was aggressively ignoring him. That plan was going swimmingly until he decided to open his mouth.

“You know, most men would take your silence as off-putting but, I love a challenge,” he wore a shit-eating grin and Emma wanted to punch him.

“Maybe I just don’t want to talk to my overly-flirty neighbour,” she replied shortly.

“No, you’re afraid,” he countered, “Afraid to talk: to reveal yourself. Trust me; your life will be a lot easier if you do.”

Emma ignored him yet again.

“Well I don’t need you to share; you’re something of an open book.”

“Am I?” she retorted quickly, defensively. Whatever this guy thought he knew about her was most definitely wrong. Emma Swan _was not_ an open book.

“Quite,” that grin was still on his smug face, “Let’s see: you keep yourself isolated because you’re used to not trusting people; you’re scared of getting hurt – which makes me guess that you’ve been hurt in the past.”

Emma remembered her conversation with CeCe at the bar earlier and snapped, “That’s not perception. That’s eavesdropping.”

“Ah, but I think that the hurt comes from feeling abandoned,” his grin had gone.

Emma glanced at him, walls shooting up, “Was I?”

The grin was back, but now it was more sympathetic, “Like I said: an open book.”

“How would you know that?” Emma wasn’t stupid; she knew he had walls of his own – she’d seen them the first night at The Tavern – it seemed only fair that he share to.

“Back in Maine I knew a boy – adopted and his mother was never around – and he had a look in his eyes...the look you get when you’ve been left alone.”

Emma’s heart broke for the little boy, but she had to deflect, “Yeah well, my world’s not a ‘little New England fishing town’.”

“But an orphan’s an orphan,” he replied seriously. Emma’s lie detector went off at his tale – not entirely untrue but not the whole story – but decided to leave it be. He went on, “Love has been all too rare in your life, hasn’t it?” If she cuts out his tongue, right here right now, will she go back to jail? Or should she just kill him and ask CeCe to help hide the body?

“Have you ever even been in love?”

Emma turned to him then, genuine curiosity in his eyes. She stared him down, unwilling to let him in, “No, I have never been in love.”

The elevator door couldn’t open fast enough.

(Later on, Mr.Wilkies knocked on her door and reminded her to keep quiet when coming home from ‘whatever you young people do these days’)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey! This was a little later than I wanted but I couldn’t write yesterday - I was far too angry at the Brexit announcement. Thanks a lot Dad for making my generation’s future uncertain and not believing me when I told him the pound had and would continue to drop. I almost hope I get to say ‘I told you so’. As you can see, I have a lot of feelings that should not be let near characters.  
> I’m not going to have wi-fi for the next couple of days so I’ll try to get the next chapter out tomorrow before I leave. That is if my beta doesn’t abandon me again.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: YAY! 2 chapters in less than 24 hours - what is this wizardry?

Killian had been sat at the bar for approximately ten minutes when Emma walked in. She sat next to him, a puzzled expression gracing her face. She followed his gaze to the barmaid, who was absent-mindedly wiping the countertop whilst staring off into some corner of the pub.

“Do you know...” she began, in an almost scared whisper, like they were watching a temperamental animal.

“No,” he shook his head.

After a few more minutes of watching Emma clearly grew impatient, waving her hand in front of her face.

Nothing.

“Don’t you think I’ve already tried that, love?”

“Well I don’t know!”

Candy was completely oblivious to what was happening, so he turned around and peered around the pub, searching for something that could possibly hold her attention for so long. After a thorough search he came up with nothing, unless the Christmas lights had suddenly become very interesting to her.

“Oi Coccino!” Emma called, “mind coming back to Earth for a moment to serve a paying customer?”

The use of her surname seemed to wake her up, and she looked at the two with an apologetic expression, “Sorry,” she turned to make their regulars and slide it across the bar to them, “here, on the house.”

“It better be,” Emma mumbled.

“I said sorry Miss Grinch.”

Killian sipped his rum, the soothing taste spreading down him, “What’s this Swan? You don’t like Christmas?”

The blonde shrugged, “Never saw the appeal.”

There was more to it than that, but Killian decided not to push. “So what about you, Jones?” Emma asked, turning to him, “You’re here in Pennsylvania, alone, at a bar, on Christmas Eve; you don’t exactly look like the biggest Christmas fan.”

Killian continued to sip his rum, “On the contrary love, I _adore_ Christmas, but as you pointed out I’m alone, so I decided to seek out some of the best company in the city.”

Emma blinked at him, leaning in closer and dropping her voice, “I’m going to let you in on a little secret. I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me.”

Killian leaned closer, and Emma’s certain expression faltered slightly, realising he was trapping her, as he licked his lips, “I assure you, _Swan_ ,” he caressed her name on his tongue, and it visibly made her shiver, “I’m telling you the truth.”

Emma’s gaze lingered on his lips before pulling away to find Candy once again gawking off into the distance. Not bothering to call out again, Emma flicked Candy’s arm, snapping the barmaid’s attention to her.

“Was that necessary?” she snapped.

“Yes, what’s gotten into you?” Emma enquired. “You’ve been acting odd since I arrived.”

Candy sighed, resting her forearms on the counter, ducking her head, “We have a new girl.”

“What’s so – oh.” Emma realised, a chuckle coming from her lips. “Who is she?”

Candy pointed to a nearby table, whispering, “Table 3, light brown hair.”

Killian turned and instantly saw who she was talking about. A petite waitress stood at a table, hair pulled back in a half-up half-down style, and even through the dim lighting of the pub Killian could tell she was attractive, although not really his type. A warm smile was plastered on her face as she finished serving the table, and she disappeared to give the order to the kitchen. When she returned, instead of going back to wait tables, she slide behind the bar next to Candy.

“Is it always this quiet?” she asked Candy, British accent coming out.

“Nah,” she answered, “most will be having a nice meal or with their families; these are the lonely souls who come to drown their sorrows,” she raised an eyebrow, “much like these two here.”

The newbie glanced at them, the warm smile Killian had seen earlier returning, “Hi.”

“Hey,” Emma introduced herself, “I’m Emma Swan, CeCe’s friend.”

“Nice to meet you,” she turned to Killian, “are you a friend of Candy’s too?”

Killian stuck out his hand, “Killian Jones, and no, I’m just Swan’s neighbour who likes to get on their nerves.”

“At least he finally admits it,” said neighbour mumbled into her drink.

The waitress laughed, letting go of his hand, “Rosemary Watson. Everyone calls me Rose.”

***

CeCe gave Rose a brief refresher tour of the bar, before letting her serve a few customers before settling back in front of Killian and Emma.

“So Killian,” Rose began, “where’s that accent from? I can’t pinpoint it.”

Emma watched Killian shrug as he answered nonchalantly “M’fraid I don’t know, love. I’ve lived over here as long as I can remember. Where’s yours from?”

Rose nodded in understanding, and then replied, “I’m from Salford, Manchester, that’s in the North West,” she glared at Emma and CeCe, “because believe it or not, the entirety of England is not from London.”

Emma and CeCe looked affronted at the accusation. Killian chuckled and Rose studied him, “I swear – I will work out where your accent is from. You a regular?” Killian nodded and Rose grinned, “Perfect. So,” she begins, addressing the entire group, “what brings everyone to Philadelphia? The City of Brotherly Love?”

CeCe snorted, “Yeah, don’t call it that, sweetie. My story’s nothing special: girl who wanted to get away from the place she grew up but was too lazy to finish school so she settled for a job in an old-fashioned bar.”

“It’s a pub,” Killian corrected.

“Yeah, it’s definitely a pub.”

“Stupid Brits,” CeCe mumbled. She reached for a drink, muttering something about how ‘it’s practically empty’ and ‘it’s time to drown my own sorrows’. “So what about the rest of you?”

Rose poured her own drink, “I moved here about a year ago, my Nana lives...lived in Boston.” She took a long gulp, “I moved to get away from my father. He wanted to go back to England and I wanted to stay here – where my Mum grew up and my Nana lived – so I ran off to escape him and...” she hesitated, judging how much to share. “I’m working towards something else, something to honour my Mum and Nana.”

Silence washed over her, tears brewing in her hazel eyes. Emma felt a small amount of pity weigh in her chest, and chose to show it by sharing next, “I’m here because I like moving around, and Philly seemed like a good place for a bail bondsperson.”

“Bail bonds? That sounds interesting. How’d you fall into that?” Rose asked.

The muscles in Emma’s body tensed as her mind went to that time in her life. Forcing herself to look up, she said, “I guess I’ve always had a natural talent for finding people.”

Thankfully, Rose appeared to accept this answer, and even if she didn’t (she probably wouldn’t – she didn’t seem the type) she had no time to object before Killian was talking.

“Well ladies, my story is a wonderful tale of a dashing rapscallion-”

“Dear God give me strength,” Emma moaned, folding her arms and resting her head on them.

“Pray on your own time please, Swan,” she heard Killian scold. “Now where was I? Ah, yes: a dashing rapscallion who moved away from the only place he’s ever known. As saddened as he was to leave those behind, the devilishly handsome man knew that this sleepy fishing town was not for him. So he packed his bags and moved to a random location in hopes of finding himself.”

Emma snorted, “‘ _in hopes of finding himself?_ ’ God, can you get any cornier?”

“Well it’s true,” he said, all the story-telling finesse gone. “I moved away because I needed a fresh start – to find myself. I didn’t care where I went and had only one requirement.”

Rose and CeCe cocked their heads in question, and Emma even decided to rise from the pillow of the bar to see his answer.

“The sea,” he answered. “I’ve been a natural sailor ever since I w- can remember. That’s why I’ve got a job at the local docks.”

“Oh,” Emma pulled herself fully back up now, “so _that’s_ the uniform you’re always wearing; the polo you’re incapable of buttoning – there’s only, like, three!”

The bastard smirked, “Why Swan, have you been paying attention to my attire? I thought you couldn’t stomach the sight of me! Don’t feel bad – I know my dashing good looks are hard to resist.”

Emma opened her mouth to protest, but stopped again as a serious look dawned on his face, “I’m lucky to have this job.”

“Why?” Rose asked.

He sighed, holding up his left arm and tapped on his hand.

It was wooden. How had she not noticed he had a prosthetic hand?

_‘Because you’re too busy insulting him Einstein’_ a voice nagged in the back of her head.

CeCe looked like she was about to question him, so Rose hastily asked, “What do you like about the sea?”

As he thought about it, Killian seemed to drift off, transporting himself to somewhere peaceful, happy. When he answered, his voice was gentle and loving, “It’s freedom; the ability to go anywhere and everywhere. Connecting everyone yet separating them. Gentle but powerful. Calm but angry. Waking up to the salty air in your lungs and letting the waves rock you to sleep. Colours, varying from the purest blues to the softest grey before a storm to the tropical greens...” he paused, turning to face Emma.

She was unaware how entranced she’d become during his speech; hearing him speak so passionately had awoken something in her – particularly considering her own pull towards the sea – it had been a long time since she’d heard someone so passionate about something. She remembers seeing her own passion die – her own _hope_ – after years of being let down and told she was worthless and would never amount to anything. It was refreshing to see that spark in someone’s eyes again.

Killian expression shifted from intense-thought to intense-flirtation in a second, as he raised a brow at Emma, “You know Swan, if you’re so interested I’m sure we could _go for a ride_ sometime.”

Emma rolls her eyes at the innuendo, yet for some bizarre reason decided to play along, “Oh yeah, and what job will you make me do, raise your mast? Sorry Jones, not happening.”

Rose and CeCe were snickering at their conversation, but Killian seemed delighted that she hadn’t shoved him away like usual. He smirks leaning a just a little closer to her, whispering, “On the contrary, Swan.”

It was then she shoved him away, muttering, “Asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Now you've met Rose, my other main OC. Her accent is the same as mine to make it easier for myself.
> 
> The next chapter probably won't be up until Friday so until next time!


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks goes to my best friend and beta for making this little poster! Fans of Harry Potter and Sherlock can find her on Fanfiction.net as Phoenix-Light3503 (psst! she’s also working on a Percy Jackson/HP crossover, but it’s a secret)

 [](http://s1293.photobucket.com/user/EBDaydreamer/media/TBoM%20banner_zps4ps1ibk9.png.html)

Nothing good ever comes out of New Years.

That is a hard fact, Emma decided, as she woke up to be greeted by a killer hangover.

Thankfully, drunk-Emma seemed aware enough last night to leave out some aspirin for hung-over-Emma. Grasping at her memory, she tried to recall the events of last night, then suddenly realised that she was not the one who left out supplies for the morning.

Groaning into her pillow, Emma’s previous thought came into her head: Nothing good ever comes out of New Years.

***

_Last night_

They were all well on their way to drunkenness, and it was barely 10:30.

Killian grinned into his drink, only slightly tipsy, suddenly grateful to his mysterious ability to hold his liquor. The Tavern was very full, and a lot of things were happening and in some cases he wasn’t quite sure what was going on and he wasn’t convinced he wanted to know. He was sure of one thing however: Emma Swan was drunk as fuck.

In the past two and a half hours he’d seen her sing, dance, cheer and make an inspiring speech about how mangoes were the best fruit and all the other fruits could go suck it.

“I mean, how do you not like mangoes? They taste amazing. Oh! And they look purtie! Perty? Pritty? Whatever! They come in looooads of colours, like fruity rainbows! Would a blue mango taste nice? Probably, it’s a motherfucking mango – it’ll definitely really tasty nicey. Have I mentioned the smell?”

Fortunately, there was only one rant about mangoes – but there were plenty more rants to come.

“How are you not druuuuunk?” Emma moaned, swaying dangerously on the barstool. “We’ve had the same amount of drinks! You’re supposed to be drunk!”

His left arm was on alert – prepared to catch her if necessary. Smirking, he replied, “I’m fantastic at holding my liquor.”

Groaning, she swayed again, head resting on his arm, “It’s not fair. Please tell me you at least have deadly hangovers?” When he gave no reply, she groaned yet again, resting her head on the bar and muttering about unfairness.

He laughed into his rum.

 

“So CeCe likes Rose,” she stated plainly, and at this point he was definitely tipsy.

“Absolutely, she’s making heart eyes and everything,” he responded.

“I can’t tell if Rose likes her. Do you think Rose likes her?”

“I don’t bloody know, why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“Shut uuuup! They’re over there. No! Don’t look! They’re so flirting; do you think they’re flirting?”

“Sorry love, I closed the eyes in the back of my skull.”

“Ha, ha. Fine! Look if you want I don’t care.”

 

It was nearly midnight, and he’d cut both himself and Emma off half an hour ago, hoping one of them would be sober enough to remind the other not to wake Mr.Wilkies or practically beg Martha to come knocking.

She was a tad moody at being denied alcohol at first, but she appeared to have perked up a bit now, eyes on the TV as the clock drew closer to 2010.

Still feeling the effects of the rum burning through him, Killian decided to be bold.

“So who are you kissing at midnight, Swan?”

She peered at him, her face scrunched adorably in confusion, “Huh?”

He leaned closer, “I asked whom you’re kissing tonight, love. Perhaps a devilishly handsome man donned in leather? A scoundrel with an astounding skill for holding his rum? The dark-haired neighbour who’s chest you’ve admired many a times?”

He expected her to make a remark – perhaps a comment on his ego – but she just stared at him; or more specifically, his lips.

“Who knows?” she whispered, her eyes in him as she gestured around the pub, “Any number of these men could be a scoundrel who holds his rum and plenty of them are wearing leather.”

“Hmm,” he hummed in agreement, their foreheads almost touching. He may be able to hold his liquor, but this was a different kind of intoxication – one he would easily and gladly get inebriated on. His eyes examined the flirtatious look on her face; the siren of her voice, low and sexy; her gorgeous green eyes; the delectable appearance of her lips, smooth with lip balm: he knew he could drown in her far easier than any sea.

“However shall I narrow it down?” she was breathless, and gods he wanted to devour her.

He didn’t have time to respond, as a chorus filled the room:

“TEN! NINE!”

Her expression.

“EIGHT! SEVEN!”

Her voice.

“SIX!”

Her eyes.

“FIVE!”

Her lips.

“FOUR!”

A siren.

“THREE!”

A temptress.

“TWO!”

His nose nudged hers.

“ONE!”

She flinched back.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!”

It was a miniscule movement, but enough to let him know she was hesitant; and if she was still tipsy and hesitant, there was no way she’d be ok with it sober. He prided himself on being a gentleman, and taking advantage of her would be bad form.

She tilted her head, amazement swimming in her eyes. He was so spellbound by her that he almost missed her whisper, “Happy New Year, Killian.”

A smile – a very genuine smile – broke across his face at hearing his name on her lips, and _gods above_ he wanted to hear it again.

“Happy New Year Emma.”

Her eyelids fluttered.

 

“So, what resolutions has everybody made and will keep for exactly three days?” Candy asked, leaning on her broom, her body language indicating she was slowly coming back from drunkenness but not so much so that she’d be able to avoid a hangover when she woke up later. It was only now that he’d finally seen her out from behind the bar and taken her heels off, that Killian realised just how short she actually was, although that did nothing to take away from how frightening she was.

The Tavern was empty apart from the two waitresses that decided to volunteer to clean up at 2:00am and two regulars who were tired and regretting their generosity to stay and help.  Luckily, they were almost done, as they were all clearly ready to pass out on the spot.

Emma glared sleepily at the waitress from one of the tables she was mopping up and mumbled, “Nothing. I don’t believe in resolutions. They’re made for people trying to feel good about themselves. If you want to change you don’t need a new year - just change. Although I’ve discovered that very little motivates people to do so.”

“Why Swan, who knew you could be so inspiring this time of night? Oh yes, how could I forget the mangoes?” Killian teased.

“Maybe your resolutions should be ‘don’t be an ass this year then continue for rest of existence for the sake of humanity’. Think you’re capable?” Emma snapped.

Candy interrupted before he could reply: “Well I intend to have fun with my resolution: I’m going to dye my hair.”

The group turned to her, puzzled.

“Um, CeCe, isn’t your hair already dyed?” Emma asked.

Candy rolled her eyes, “Well yeah, but that’s not what I mean. I mean dye it something interesting. Y’know, bright pink or something. Change it every-so-often.”

“Because red streaks isn’t interesting enough?”

“Shut up Jones, you don’t get a say. Anyone else have a resolution?”

_(“Lose weight? Start a diet? Start exercising? Try not to be an annoying little shit.”_

_“Why do I feel like that last one was directed at me?”_

_“Because it was Jones.”)_

Rose shuffled, almost nervously, and spoke up, “There’s a reason I moved here specifically.” Leaning against the bar, she prepared to tell her story; “Whenever I used to visit my Nana when I was little, there was this gorgeous old library. It was shut down a few years ago, and Nana once said: ‘I want you to reopen it. I want you to manage something this family has loved across four generations.’” She bit her lip, eyes glossing over in a mixture of the affects of her earlier drinks and grief. “That’s really why I wanted to stay in America. I want to live her dream. My Dad disagreed.”

She crossed her arms and sighed, picking at her nails. “There’s a place around here that reminds me a lot of it. I bought it and got packing. The thing I forgot to take into account: I’m skint. So I’m saving up so I can renovate the place. I aim to have enough money to get to work by the end of the year.” She pushed herself off the bar and continued cleaning it.

“That’s my resolution.”

Candy and Emma stood, completely speechless.

“Can we see it?”

Killian was not. In fact he felt a spark of empathy: having an idea of where you belong but still not sure if it’s right for you; a need for escape and Philly's ability to lure you in with that one thing; wanting desperately to connect to that one thing - yes, he knew how it felt.

At his question, Rose turned to him, an inquiring look on her face.

“The library, can we see it? I happen to enjoy a good book from time to time.”

The warm smile seen when Killian first met her re-appeared, “Yeah, of course you can.”

***

Drowsily, Emma stumbled out of the elevator, Killian’s arms out ready to catch her. She felt a wave of relief wash over her, knowing sleep was not far off. Guiding her gently to her apartment, she knew Killian had a stupid grin on his face.

Screw him and his ability to hold his liquor.

“Easy there, love. I’m truly baffled by women’s insistence on wearing something that causes pain and lack of balance.”

“Yeah, well I’m confused by your face,” she jeered. The bastard laughed.

Somehow she’d ended up in her bedroom and Killian had mysteriously found some aspirin and a glass of water within two minutes (an amazing feat, for she lives here and it takes forever to wade through her disorganised medical cabinet). After kicking off her shoes, she grabbed the pillow and felt herself drifting off. Then he had to go and talk; “I’ll leave these here, love. If you need anything tomorrow, feel free to just yell until I come. Don’t worry - I receive a distress call from a fair maiden and I’m on the spot.”

“If you're a knight then where’s your horse?” she muttered, probably delusional at this point, “You like boats. You’re a flirtatious ass. You’re more a pirate than a knight.”

She couldn’t see his face, but was aware he was more than likely trying not to laugh at her, “Aye, love. I think you’re right. Maybe I should get a hook?”

She snorted and blindly shoved him away. She felt the pressure leave the bed and heard him whisper, “Goodnight Swan.”

It was only as he closed the door she realised something:

She could rely on him.

She could _trust_ him

She _wanted_ to.

Shit.

 

_The next morning_

The memories flooded back all at once, making Emma cringe. No, nothing good ever came out of New Year’s, she decided.

Not dancing.

Not singing.

Not flirting.

No heart-breaking story.

Not trying to kiss someone.

And especially not deciding she could trust her annoying neighbour Killian Jones and actually _wanting_ to. She couldn’t. She just couldn’t take the chance that she was wrong about him.

Not even mangoes can cheer her up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m back from Italy! Yay! It feels so good to be writing on my laptop again. Although I am going to London tomorrow and will be back to my phone. Ah well,it’s only overnight. Maybe one day I’ll get a rest? School holiday’s are upon me.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


	6. Chapter 5

 [](http://s1293.photobucket.com/user/EBDaydreamer/media/TBoM%20banner_zps4ps1ibk9.png.html)

“Here it is,” Rose pulled the doors open, greeting them with a sparse open space. Books were in disarray on every surface, floor included, and the wallpaper was peeling off the one wall it was still attached to - the rest covered in a sickly yellow.

“It needs work,” she said nervously, “but this is what my Nana wants for me: to be surrounded by things I love.”

“This is awesome, Rose,” CeCe complimented, whose hair had been cut to her shoulders and had been dyed a snowy blue, “Good for you, chasing your dreams.”

Rose blushed, “Thanks.”

Emma gazed around, taking everything in. She loved reading but never got around to buying new books or going to the library (meaning she’d read the Harry Potter series about fifteen times) and knowing someone who owned a library was pretty much the perfect opportunity to find some new books.

Just as she considered asking Rose for some recommendations, Killian spoke up, “Gods, I don't think I've ever seen so many books.”

Rose smiled weakly, “I know it's a mess, but I have it all planned out in my head. Over here-”

“No,” he interrupted, “that's not what I meant.” He sighed, “I adore reading, it's one of the few things that soothe me. I just haven't read that many.” He grinned at Rose, “Expect me to be your most frequent customer when you open.”

“Why?” Rose queried, obviously appalled that someone who loved reading ‘hadn't read that many books’. Emma decided not to say anything as Rose continued, “Wasn't there a library where you came from?”

Killian appeared fascinated by the floor, “Aye, but alas, it closed down over three years ago.”

“What about before then?” CeCe chipped in.

Another sigh, “Before then, well I wouldn't remember.”

“What?” Emma finally spoke.

He turned to her, an extremely false smile on his face, “I have amnesia, Swan.”

A stunned silence swept over the room.

Emma was shocked. She couldn’t imagine what that was like - losing yourself completely. It sparked sympathy in her chest. ‘ _No wonder he said he was trying to find himself’_ \- God, she felt bad for mocking him now.

It was Rose who broke the silence, “You don't need to wait until we open, Killian.” Her eyes suddenly lit up, “Let me grab you some of my favourites. What century? Modern, classic or modern classic? What genre? Never mind, I'll just get the best from each!”

Dashing behind the shelves, Rose promptly tripped over a pile of children's books.

“I'm ok!”

Giggling, CeCe went to help her.

Emma observed Killian, who looked touched by Rose’s enthusiasm. He stood straighter, like a weight had been lifted, but his cheeks were tinged pink and he deliberately didn't look at her.

Suddenly feeling shy, she asked, “How did it happen?”

“Boating accident,” he said simply. “It's ironic really - you love something and it turns out to be the thing that hurts you.”

“Yeah.” It pained her how much she could relate to the sentiment.

“So, whenever you said ‘as long as you can remember’?”

“I wasn’t exaggerating,” he finished. “You can go back to insulting me Swan, I don’t need your pity. I’ve recreated myself over the past three years, I’ve re-learnt most aspects of modern culture - hell I’ve even learnt how to drive with this,” he gestured to his prosthetic hand. “And no, I’ve been told I lost my hand before that.”

“Why would you leave? There may have been something that would jog your memory,” she questioned.

Finally, he looked at her. She felt herself internally stumble, his piercing blue stare transporting her to the night they met. “I tried that, Swan. But the townsfolk barely seemed to remember me. All they could ever recall was me working at the docks and that I liked to visit the only pub in town.”

Feeling like she already knew the answer, Emma asked, “What about your family? Close friends? Couldn’t they tell you anything?”

He snorted, “Apparently I prefered to be alone. As for family...turns out I had none left.”

Emma felt her face go soft, her expression filling with empathy when he said, “I still don’t want your pity Swan.”

“No, it’s not pity,” she sighed - it seemed only fair she open up to him, even with that horrible feeling of _trust_ she felt a few nights ago that made her want to run for the hills.“I get it. I...know what it’s like...to feel alone.” She was essentially confirming his suspicions but he still seemed startled, maybe because she was actually opening up to him.

_‘No, Emma. Don’t go there. Never go there. You know what will happen if you go there.’_

**‘But what if-’**

_‘I said don’t!’_

“It comes back to me, in random flashes.” He moves closer to her, “Emotions mostly; sometimes they come with a thing or place.” He swallowed, clearly debating whether to tell her more or not.

She was thankful when he didn’t.

He picked up a nearby book, and turned said, “Rose appears to have a long list of recommendations.”

She laughed, then said, “Mind if I add my own?”

His genuine grin was back, “Not at all, love.”

She beamed, “My favourite book _ever_ is the Princess Bride, and honestly it’s my favourite movie as well. Oh! I think you’ll like Peter Pan - you _did_ suggest getting a hook. And Treasure Island, whilst we’re talking about pirates. Jekyll and Hyde is good - and you _have_ to read Harry Potter-”

“I’ve read Potter Swan,” he rolled his eyes, “Five times actually.”

“Fifteen,” she retorted, “I win.”

Her lease ends soon anyway - then she and this _connection_ will be gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Back from London! With all this travelling I may be coming down with something. Oh well, more time to lie in bed and write!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	7. Chapter 6

 [](http://s1293.photobucket.com/user/EBDaydreamer/media/TBoM%20banner_zps4ps1ibk9.png.html)

Emma renewed her lease.

Now let’s make this very clear: Emma Swan does  not renew her lease - she leaves, she keeps moving - regardless if she makes friends.

It was a moment of weakness, and she swore that it was only for CeCe’s discounted drinks, but deep down she knew she’d grown attached to the straightforward, quirky waitress, along with the aspiring librarian and her flirty amnesic neighbour.

Emma was attached; she was terrified.

***

Killian knew he was growing closer to Emma (he even dared to call it a friendship) and he knew that she was afraid of letting people in, so he considered it an honour that she had told him about her own feelings of loneliness.

Besides Emma, he was also becoming fast friends with Rose, often volunteering to help out at the library, coming up with ways to organise the shelves. He’d even seemed to have won some of Candy’s approval.

Life was great. True, he missed some of the friends he’d made in Storybrooke, but he hadn’t felt this refreshed since he woke up after the accident. He felt _alive._

***

It had been over a month since Rose had first showed them the library, and Killian visited on a regular basis, showing her all the different ways he’d found out to organise shelves, along with different layout ideas.

_(‘Wow, this is a lot.’_

_‘I’m surprisingly good at research.’)_

They were currently going over some design ideas, when he decided to make ‘harmless small talk’, “So Valentine’s day is approaching…”

“What? The day created to scam people out of money and put pressure on relationships?” she raised a brow.

“The very same,” he replied, “Although the cheaper chocolate the next day is a bonus.”

“Definitely,” she pulled some hair away from her face, “I fill my cupboards with February 15th chocolate that last a month.”

“So you haven’t anyone in mind this year?” he smirked.

Peering up from the papers on the desk, Rose peered curiously at him, “What is this? You trying to ask me out? Yeah, I don’t feel that way about you, so..”

“That’s not what I meant,” he cocked his head. “Isn’t there someone else you would enjoy spending that day with? Perhaps a waitress with brightly coloured hair?”

“Candy?” Rose spluttered. “No! No, no. We’re friends and co-workers.”

“Aye, but you think of her that way,” he teased.

“Well what about you?” She swiftly changed the subject, “I’ve seen the way you look at her, Killian, you like her.”

“Candy?”

“No, Emma!”

It was his turn to focus on the table, “I find her...attractive, yes, but she can do better than a one-handed amnesiac with a drinking problem.”

Rose lightly punched him, forcing him to look at her, “Is that what you think?”

He shrugged, “Besides, Emma has walls sky high - relationships are not her thing.”

“So you’re going to give up?” Rose was shocked. “You're a lot of things, Killian Jones, but I certainly didn't take you for a quitter.”

“Can't quit what you never started, love.”

“Nonsense, you started having feelings for her, but now you're giving up on them because you're afraid.”

Killian felt something deep inside of him growl, “I'm not a coward.”

“Why don't you prove it?” she challenged, “You have until my birthday to tell her how you feel.”

“When's your birthday again?”

“May 9th. Plenty of time. Probably too much time but I like to think myself a generous person.”

“And if I don't?” he was inexplicably nervous.

Rose smiled, “Then you’re a coward and I'll tell her.”

Killian smirked, an idea forming, and Rose’s face dropped at the sight, “Agreed, but the same applies for you and Candy.”

“You're on.”

***

“So what happened to doing something fun with it?”

CeCe looked up, “Hm?”

Emma pointed, “With your hair! I know blonde is your natural colour. Why'd you dye it to that if you wanted something fun?”

“Because,” she shrugged, “it hasn't been blonde since 1999.”

Emma tilted her head as to say ‘fair enough’ and decided to talk about the other two things bothering her.

“So, it's scamentines day.”

CeCe laughed, “I might just start using that.”

“I'm a genius, I know.”

“And your poor ass is working.”

“So’s yours!” she accused.

CeCe smirked, “Not all night. I have a date.”

“You have a date?” Disbelief washed over her. At least it led nicely into her second thing.

“Well don't sound so surprised,” CeCe glared, “I do happen to be attractive you know.”

“With who?” Emma used her bail bond tricks to sound as casual as possible, “Rose?”

CeCe nearly dropped her glass.

“What? No! No, I don't...it's not…”

_Reason Number 2 Emma Swan doesn't like people: They lie_

Emma merely raised an eyebrow and CeCe sighed, accepting defeat.

“What if she doesn't feel the same? What if she's straight! I've done it before, remember when we met?”

_Reason Number 12: They lie to themselves_

Emma groaned, “CeCe, you have to be blind to not see the amount of mutual pining going on here.”

“I'm not the only one,” she mumbled.

“What do you mean?”

CeCe met her stare, “Just that I'm not the only one pining around here.”

Confused, Emma's brows knitted together, “Who-”

“Hello ladies.”

***

Killian slided next to Emma, blatantly eyeing her. He couldn't resist a good tease, “Hot date  on this night of love, Swan?”

She rolled her eyes and replied monotonously, “ Yep, he's very charming. He's from Florida and just moved here. He works in a jewellers and has a side job of stealing anything with diamonds: necklaces, bracelets, watches... Isn't that lovely?”

She seemed tenser than usual tonight, much like the night he called her an open book. He decided not to push, knowing it would just make her close up more.

“Where’s Rose?” Candy asked, trying to be casual as she shakily set down his rum, her voice raising an octave. “I mean…” she coughed, “her shift starts soon.”

He took a sip, “She was just finishing off something at the library.”

“Oh,” Candy wiped down the already clean bar with fake nonchalance.

“So CeCe, how did you meet this date of yours?”

“Candy has a date?”

“Why is everyone so surprised?”

“Because you obviously like Rose!”

“Does _everyone_ know?”

“Would you two shut up and tell me how you met her?”

Candy ceased glaring at him and turned back to Emma, “Online.”

“You do online dating?” Emma asked.

“You date online,” she mumbled.

“Swan actually dates?”

“It's for work,” Emma snapped. “Honestly Jones, you've been bugging me long enough to know that I don't date.” Killian grinned, only because she did likewise. It was nice to be insulted without malice.

“I do love, that's why I was so surprised.”

“I’m here!” Rose slipped behind the bar, hastily pulling up her hair, “What did I miss?”

“Well Candy here-” Killian began

“Just how Emma uses online dating for work,” the waitress cut him off with a scowl. “Now that everyone’s here,” she dashed into the back, leaving Killian to exchange perplexed glances with the other two. She came back with a tin in her hand, dodging her co-workers with practised grace. Opening the tin, Killian saw a pile of cookies. “Eat!” she demanded, “I was bored - consider it a Valentine’s gift.”

“Wait, Candy has a soul?”

“I’ll murder you, Jones, don’t think I won’t.”

“Oh god, these are sooo good!” Rose moaned, swallowing the last of one with another already in her hand. “Forget Valentine’s day, I want these.”

“Mmm!” Emma hummed in agreement. “Who needs a relationship when you can have carbs?” She swiftly shoved another into her mouth, “I mean, to be honest, unless whoever it is can cook really well, I’ll never have a long-lasting relationship.”

“That and your commitment issues,” Candy added, earning a light nudge from Rose. “I mean…” Candy looked around guiltily, desperately trying to find a way to make up for what she said.

Thankfully for her, she was saved, “Oh, look who’s here!” she gestured to the door, and Killian saw a man stroll in.

Glancing at him, Killian immediate distrusted him. He had no idea where the feeling came from, but he stuck to his gut, “Is he dangerous, love?”

Emma was already up, “My research didn't bring anything up, why?”

He shook his head, “No reason.”

 

Not long into the ‘date’ Emma ended up chasing him outside.

 

She was gone too long.

“You think she's alright?” Killian turned to Candy.

She shrugged, but concern was written all over her face, “Emma’s tough, she should be ok.” As she went to take someone's order, she pleaded, “Check on her.”

Nodding, Killian exited the pub and hurried out into the cool air, not bothering to put down his drink, wondering where she would've gone. Gods, he hoped nothing too serious had happened to her; she’d told horror stories about some of her previous skips, he didn’t know what he’d do if she was that badly injured.

Sounds of a struggle could be heard as soon as the door closed behind him, sounds that he recognised as Emma's. Swiftly, he rushed towards the noise, praying that she was alright.

Turning the corner, he was both proud and terrified by what he saw. Both were quite bloodied up, the guy appeared to be forming a black eye and sported a limp. Emma, however, had skimmed knees and her arm seemed uneasy; and the guy had a knife behind her back.

“Oi!” Killian charged up to him. Emma must have really hit his eye hard, as he stumbled trying to find the source of the noise. Before he could, Killian had given him a neat left hook with his prosthetic, promptly knocking him out.

“Jones!” Emma panted, clearly exhausted, “What the hell? Why did you-”

“He had a knife, love,” he offered to help her up, which she refused. Then he noticed-

“Give me your hand.”

“What?” Emma exasperated.

“Your hand: it's cut. Let me help,” he reached for her left arm with his prosthetic, looping it through her bracelet, noting her muffled whimper of pain.

“Killian, it's fine,” she groaned, attempting to pull away.

“No,” he tugged her closer, “it's not.”

Her gorgeous green orbs locked with his, and he had to tear away to fix up the gash on her hand. He scrambled for a scarf he packed for the chilly docks, then realised it may need some antiseptic. Not willing to go in and give her chance to escape, he went for the glass he left on the ground earlier, pouring the remaining liquid into her wound.

“Ah! Ah! What the hell is that?”

“It's rum, of course, bloody waste,” he joked. “Honestly Swan, you've been complaining about me long enough to know that rum is my favourite,” she rolled her eyes as he imitated her earlier words.

“So here's the plan,” he began to tie the scarf, “We go inside and get you stitched up, drop him off, then go to the hospital,” he regained eye contact with her, knowing she'd hate this part, worsened by the fact he had to tie the fabric with his teeth, “to check you don't need stitches.”

“I don't have time to get stitched up; I've had worse and done it by myself,” she protested.

He smiled, “You're a tough lass, you know.” He dropped her hand, keeping their eye-contact, “If you won't go to the hospital, at least let Candy get the first aid and let me help you take him and look after you at home?”

She was having an internal debate; it was written all over her face. He knew Emma was used to helping herself, but he wanted to show her she _could_ trust people, trust him.

“Ok,” she hauled her perp up so he rested against the wall.

***

“I'm fine! I can take my own damn skip in!”

CeCe sighed, changed out of her ‘bar wench’ attire and into a pink dress for her date, “Emma, this is nasty, and you may have done some real damage to your left knee. Just go - I'll take him and give you the money, I've done it before. You know Garrett likes me: I always bring decent drinks.”

“I don't need coddling! Just go on your damn date and you two go home!” she continued to protest, refusing to give in to the three people standing over her. She’d had _far_ worse, and if painkillers didn’t solve anything then she could always go to the hospital - but she refused to let anyone do her job for her.

“Killian, make sure she doesn’t put too much pressure on her left leg, give her some painkillers to take the edge off,” Rose instructed.

“Don’t forget to _watch_ her take them. And remind her to go to the hospital in the morning,” CeCe added, talking as if she weren’t even there, which boiled her blood.

“Of course,” he replied, reaching for his keys.

“I’m still here you know!”

“Then there’s a problem,” CeCe snapped at her, and it made her want to snap right back. “Killian, I swear if she’s not safe-”

“No hunting down will be necessary, I’ll hand myself over to your punishment.”

“Just making sure we’re understood.”

Why were they so worried about her? She probably just pulled a muscle - she wasn’t about to collapse! She’d told them that:

“I’m perfectly capable.”

Killian groaned, “We know, Swan, but we want you to be able to accept help for once. When will you ever realise you don’t need to do things alone? You have people who care for you now, will you just let us?”

She felt herself internally stumble - something only he’d managed to do - they _wanted_ to take care of her? They knew that she could do it alone, they respected that, so it wasn’t out of obligation, but just because they cared? They actually cared and wanted to put her first.

The realisation and silenced her, and she let Killian take her home whilst CeCe took in her skip.

***

They rode the elevator together in silence. Emma knew Killian was deliberately not looking at her, and she bitterly wanted it to be out of guilt, but at the same time her curiosity was screaming.

They meandered out of the elevator, sneaking past 7A and 7D to avoid their annoying neighbours and Emma briefly wondered when he stopped sharing that title. He followed her to the door, clearly intending to follow through CeCe’s demands, which may have pissed her off if a million other things weren’t racing through her head.

“Did you really see that guy’s knife _before_ you cut in?” she asked, and she knew he heard her real question: “ _Did you really see the danger then save me? Do you care that much?”_

“That surprise you?” _“We’ve been over this: of course.”_ He still wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Well,” she decided to try something more light-hearted, slipping her hands into her pockets and relaxing her shoulders, “a pirate like yourself usually values self-preservation.” _“I’m not mad.”_

“Doesn’t mean I’d leave a lady to deal with a knife-wielding criminal.” He finally looked at her, not an ounce of joking in his eyes, and she got so many messages at once it made her want to jump out the window yet rooted her to the spot. “I see your joke and I’m mildly offended.” _“Now’s not the time for joking, Swan. I was scared for you.” “I was scared for you.” “I was worried about you.” “I care about you.” “I’m not leaving you.”_

“Thank you,” his eyes were incredibly blue - she always noticed - it was the first thing she noticed. She’d learnt to read them, and she could see the dissolving fear and the steady relief and the care and the desire to stay and the lowering of walls and, if she dared, she could see the ability to trust him.

That expression faded briefly into something she’d never seen before as he scratched his ear then left as quickly as it came, turning into one she was far more familiar with: flirtation.

“Well, perhaps gratitude is in order now,” he tapped his lips and turned the smoulder on full blast.

“Yeah,” _‘No, Emma don’t look at his lips. We don’t want to look at his lips now do we?’_ **‘But-’** ‘ _Stop arguing!’_ “that’s what the thank you was for.”

Damn that smirk, “Hmm,” he moved closer, completely playful at this point; it was a good look on him. “Is that all your life is worth to you?” He moved closer, obviously trying to kill her.

“Please,” her voice was lowered and she shook her head and _‘why are you moving closer?’_ “You couldn’t handle it.”

_‘You literally called him a pirate five seconds ago - why the hell are you challenging him?’_

His smirk only grew, “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.” He emphasised the ‘t’ in a way that should be illegal, and his face screamed ‘Challenge accepted’. Yet he stay where he was, minimalistically leaning in - he was giving her a choice.

Her eyes searched his, and goddammit she knew she should just unlock the damn door. They could already read each other so well - which terrified her - she didn’t need to know what his lips tasted like. Nope. Him and his stupid pretty face could go to hell. Her curiosity can go fuck itself, because she is not grabbing his jacket and she is most _certainly not_ running her fingers through his hair and this is definitely not a kiss.

Oh, hello Reason Number 12!

His lips tasted like the rum he was drinking earlier. _‘There you go curiosity. Happy?’_

His finger were in her hair as they seemed to inhale each other and Emma felt something aggressive awaken. Dear lord, he was a good kisser, although he was mostly following her lead. His hand moved from her hair, gently down her arm and rested at her hips. Her right hand had a firm grip on the leather, and her left couldn’t let go of his hair. She kept pulling him into her, repeatedly going back for more. The voice that should have been yelling at her to stop was drowned out by the overwhelming, all-consuming sense of _him_. It felt like an eternity - she _wanted_ it to be an eternity so she would never have to deal with the consequences as self-control kicked in and made her _stop._

She stumbled, unsure if her lack of balance was from the mind melting kiss or her knees, even though the pain had vanished along with all of Emma’s common sense. She couldn’t bring herself to pull away yet, absorbing his ragged breath (or was it hers?) and the tantalising smell of rum, leather and salt. Their noses and foreheads were pressed against each other, which should have left her unable to judge how he was feeling, but she still had a pretty good idea.

Stunned. Hypnotised. _Wrecked._

“That was,” he was lost for words, and his voice confirmed that he was most definitely wrecked (and no, she was not proud).

Him talking snapped her sense back into place, and she dragged herself away from him, backing into her door.

“A one time thing.”

She hastily unlocked her door, nearly falling through it.

“Don’t follow me. CeCe will never know.”

Whether she's referring to not checking she took painkillers or the kiss remains a mystery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry this took a bit longer! I’m writing two chapters ahead of when I’m posting (so I actually wrote most of this chapter on a plane back from Italy), and chapter 8 was an absolute nightmare, not helped by my sudden inspiration for my other fic, ‘Purpose’, or the massive homework task I’ve been set. 
> 
> But I hope a lengthy chapter and a CS kiss makes up for that!  
> I am very guilty of rewatching the Neverland kiss scene. Multiple times. With and without the backing music. Damn these two.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!


	8. Chapter 7

 [](http://s1293.photobucket.com/user/EBDaydreamer/media/TBoM%20banner_zps4ps1ibk9.png.html)

Usually, Emma put off going to the hospital after an incident with a skip until she urgently had to. So when she was in the A&E at 6:30 in the morning, it was unusual to say the least. Emma tried to tell herself it was because her hand may be infected and she didn’t want her knee slowing her down on her next case. Now, you may be thinking ‘but isn’t lying to yourself reason number twelve?’ and you’d be correct, as at this point Emma Swan is pretty sure she hates herself.

The _real_ reason she was straight to the hospital was that if she didn’t go on her own accord, Killian would make her go, and she _really_ doesn’t want to talk to him, because that would lead to discussing last night and then feelings may get involved and -

If she’s not careful she’ll have a panic attack. Oh well, no better place than a hospital. Maybe then she’ll have to stay for longer and can avoid going anywhere near a certain dark-haired Brit whose lips she could still taste.

God, she has _got_ to stop thinking about it.

It shouldn’t be too hard, it’s not like it feels like it’s burned into her very soul.

Nope, this is not affecting her; Killian Jones does not have that power.

Absolutely not.

***

Killian knocked on Emma's door, determined that if they didn't talk about it, he at least got her to the hospital. When she didn't answer (big surprise) he called: “Swan, open up!”

Silence.

He knocked again.

“Love, if you don't at least go to a doctor Candy and Rose will kill me, then you…then probably me again!”

His knocking finally ceased when a door open, but it was not 7B that opened - it was 7D.

Greeeaaat, just what he needed.

“Oh Killian dear! How are you?”

Killian liked to think himself a patient person, and Martha of 7D _reall_ y put that to the test. Besides the fact she mysteriously already knew his first name when they met (he suspected she looked at his post) she just generally gave off a friendly-to-the-point-of-threatening vibe, and he feared she was actually capable of killing you with kindness, generosity...but mostly pure nosiness.

“Hullo Martha, I'm just dandy,” he gritted his teeth and replied sarcastically. “But I can't chat, I need to take Emma to the hospital - she took a bit of a tumble last night.”

“Oh that's why she was limping this morning!”

His neck spun so quickly it was a wonder _he_ didn't need medical attention. “Pardon?”

“Yes she was hobbling down the corridor this morning, the sweet. She must have been in a rush - didn't hear me when I offered her some of my homemade blueberry muffins.” She held a basket out to him, “Want some? Maybe you can get some to her.”

“Martha,” he breathed, any fake politeness gone, “did she say where she was going?”

He told himself his desperation came only from concern for her wellbeing, but he knew he'd be lying if that kiss wasn't part of it. Before now, the only kisses he remembered were empty, purely to scratch an itch, but that kiss, it was fire and fight and _feelings_. He already knew he fancied Emma, but that kiss unlocked so many emotions, not dissimilar to when he had a flash of memory; and it was strong - almost overbearing - much like his pull to the sea. Fear and hope mixed in his chest: terrified of her reaction yet hopeful; maybe this was what he was looking for, she was what he was missing.

Lost in his memory of the blonde vixen, he only just realised Martha was babbling on, “...and she really is a strange girl, isn't she? I wonder how she was brought up, the lack of manners that girl has. Didn't talk to me on the way out! Just mumbled something about ‘getting there before he makes me’. I wonder I really do…”

Then it clicked.

“Many thanks for your assistance Martha!” he cheered, rushing to the lift. Emma must have been going to the hospital by herself, wanting to avoid him (really, who's surprised?) than actually discussing last night like adults.

As the lift dragged down, he realised that chasing her wouldn't end well - he'd have to let her come to him.

It's laundry night anyway.

***

‘Take it easy’ the doctors said. Yeah well the doctors also said that the scar from a chickenpox she picked when she was seven would heal and that was a lie. How is anyone supposed to take it easy when they're busy being a mature adult and avoiding their problems by running away, trying not to think about it and failing miserably?

She doesn't _have_ to do her laundry tonight; _he_ definitely will, the organisation freak he is. Emma is completely ok with having her laundry basket overflowing. She is very proud to say that this didn't make her give in.

Her lack of clothes for tomorrow however…

She put it off as late as she could, hoping that he'd give in and go searching for her at The Tavern, or that he'd have to go to work.

She forgot he didn't work Sunday's and Monday’s.

She forgot he'd have more common sense than to face CeCe without information on her.

She forgot the universe hates her.

“Oh, come on!”

He was fucking _shirtless._

Killian jumped at the noise yet his eyes softened when he saw it was her, and that peeved her; who the hell gave him the permission to look at her like that? Like he _cared_ , like she was _worth_ caring about, like she was worth _something_.

“Swan,” he whispered her name, like she was a wild animal prepared to sprint, which, she supposed, wasn't far from the truth.

Spinning on heel, Emma marched out of the room until she heard:”You can't avoid me forever you know.”

It was a challenge, and the last time she took him up in a challenge it didn't end well, yet her stubbornness was, well, stubborn.

“I'm not avoiding you, I'm just occupied with,” she pointed to her knees, “y’know.”

“‘Y’know’ I’m actually quite perceptive. And this,” he waved his hand, “this is avoiding me.” She licked her lower lip and focused on one of many chipped tiles on the floor. “How are they, by the way?”

She met his eye, “Huh?”

He gestured to her knees, “Do they still hurt? What did the doctor say?”

“How do you know that I-”

“Same reason I didn't go to The Tavern today, love,” he interrupted, “Candy would kill.”

She may have chuckled at that.

“My hand has stitches,” she waved her left hand, “stings like a bitch, though that happens a lot. Nothing serious on my knees, just need to ‘take it easy’.” She added air quotes.

He laughed at her complaints; rude. Especially how without a shirt on the muscles in his chest visibly rippled in a way that _did not_ make her drool; and damn that chest hair. How is she only just realising how attractive chest hair is?

“Think you can manage it, love?” he teased.

“No,” she moaned, “I don't like sitting still.”

His laughter continued, “How old are you, Swan?”

“Seven.”

“You should probably add twenty.”

“I don't want to.”

“Then you can kiss alcohol goodbye.”

“Way to ruin my fun, Jones.”

‘One day,’ she vowed ‘I will slap that shit-eating grin off his face.’ However, it turned out she didn't need to, as his features molded into something serious and sincere and something else she couldn't quite pinpoint.

Her chest constricted as he inhaled, glanced at the floor, scratched his ear and met her eyes and looked unfairly attractive. He swallowed, “I've been thinking about it all day.”

Crap. Crappy crappity crap crap.

Emma blinked rapidly, almost as if she did it enough, time would reverse and he would never have said that.

“Why?” was all she could say.

Willing herself not to lose eye contact and bolt, she listened as he replied, “I was hoping it meant something.”

Tensing, she changed the subject, “What meant something was you saving my life; thank you.”

**‘Deflecting…’**

_‘Shut up!’_

“You know Emma,” he was moving into her space; who gave him and his bare chest permission to move closer? “I would much prefer it you told me if it meant something-” he studied her, and damn how did she forget how pretty he was? “However, if you so desire, it doesn't have to mean a thing.”

God, the honesty in his eyes killed her. He wouldn't stop looking at her as he waited for her response.

“I don't want it to mean anything,” not a lie, that's good.

He wore a pitying smile, “As you wish.” Then, he grabbed his cleaned clothes and went to leave.

Suddenly it hit her: “Have you read the Princess Bride yet?”

He turned to her, “No, why?”

“So you haven't seen the movie?”

His head shook.

She bit her lip, “I have a copy of the book, you can borrow it and maybe then we can watch the movie sometime…” she hesitated, knowing that this - labelling - would help them, “friend?”

That damn grin; “Aye, friend, that sounds grand.”

“Killian?” she stopped him again. “Try anything and you can meet my handcuffs.”

The grin widened, “Oh, Swan, that most definitely wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

The lengthy breath she let out when he left was astounding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hope you enjoyed!


	9. Chapter 8

 [](http://s1293.photobucket.com/user/EBDaydreamer/media/TBoM%20banner_zps4ps1ibk9.png.html)

She did show him the movie, and another, and another, until pretty soon it was a regular occurrence. Although she was uncomfortable with it at first, she’d soon gotten used to him barging into her apartment with rum,

_(“Do you drink anything else?”_

_“Everyone has a favourite beverage; besides, it never hurts.”_

_“Tell that to your liver.”_

_“Do you want the free alcohol or not, Swan?”)_

And a new movie he wanted to watch. Or, she’d call him during the day, demanding he bring food as she’d discovered another film in her cupboards somewhere. One day, however, she was a little too eager:

_“Jones!” she ratted on the door. “Open up! I’ve got a movie here that you’ll probably like.”_

_The door swung open and he stood there, sweatpants riding low on his hips (damn), blue shirt (unbuttoned of course) that matched his eyes, dark hair ruffled like he’d just rolled out of bed (‘Bitch, I swear to god, stop picturing it’) and an eyebrow raised in curiosity._

_“Well then, by all means, come in. Did you bring refreshments?” he stepped aside._

_She blushed slightly, “No, I guess I figured we’d use your rum.”_

_Damn that grin, “I told you, love, I’ll make a rum-lover out of you yet.”_

_It was only when he moved to let her look around his apartment when she realised: she was in his apartment,_ his _apartment, where she had no control._

_Really, it was more or less the same as hers: the opening was in an ‘L’ shape, a kitchen on the right of the door snuggled in the corner, a little island with barely enough room between the counters; a living room taking up most of the space, a couch and a couple of comfy chairs facing the TV, coffee table in between and cabinets pushed against the wall; a corridor that led to a bathroom and bedroom. The only real differences were, obviously, colour schemes, the not-been-properly-washed-in-a-while smell, the excess of paintings, a dartboard and the fact that his cabinets appeared a lot more organised than hers, which had a few books spilling on the floor._

_“Well don’t stand on ceremony, Swan; make yourself comfortable. Fortunately, I think I have some Doritos in.”_

_“Do you actually use this thing? Or is this just you, trying to be macho, or whatever?” Emma gestured to the dartboard._

_He placed the bowl of Doritos on the table and smirked, “Swan, where I came from the best form of entertainment were the bar fights and the local diner’s patrons trying their hand at darts. I pride myself on being a fast learner so I picked it up fairly quickly.”_

_“May I?”_

_“Go ahead.”_

_She picked up the dart, aiming for the centre of the board; threw and missed by a long shot. He chuckled, “You’ve got a lot to learn, love.”_

_“Is this the part where you put your arms around me and teach me?” she quirked a brow._

_“You wish, Swan.”_

_“In your dreams.”_

_“Absolutely,” he cheeked._

_Normally she would respond with an eye roll, but his smirk was more childish than flirtatious, bringing a twitch to the corner of her mouth._

_“So what are we watching?” He picked up the DVD she’d placed on the on the coffee table, “‘Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark’,” he read._

_“Another from my youth,” she grinned and he returned it, which absolutely_ did not _make her stomach flutter._

After that they began to spend time at both their apartments, but he prefered hers as he put it ‘your last neighbours could be bothered to get rid of the mouldy smell’, and she wasn’t about to argue.

***

“So,” Emma turned the TV off, “what did you think?”

“I think,” he began slowly, “that with all the timeline hopping it’s impossible for Marty to end up the same.”

Emma sighed, “You have to ignore that. You’ve got to admit: the Western part was pretty good.”

“Aye,” he accepted, “It’s definitely one of my favourites.”

Emma grinned, adding it to the mental list.

So far he had been moved by ‘Titanic’, _really_ liked ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’ -

_(“What is it with you and pirates?”_

_“You started it, love.”)_

\- along with ‘Star Wars’ and “this Han Solo fellow” and _no_ they are not obsessed with ‘The Princess Bride’, they are just greatly appreciative of fine cinema.

“So, love, any ideas for the next film?” he moved to get up.

“Um, actually…” she reached out to stop him, ignoring the jolt she felt when their skin met, “I was thinking that tomorrow we could just hang out. Y’know, without any movies.”

He nodded, “Ok then, love. See you at The Tavern then?”

He strided towards the door and she stopped him again, “No! I, erm, I meant here.”

He raised a brow, “Here?”

“Yes.”

“Without a film?”

“Yes.”

“Are Candy and Rose coming?”

She felt herself twitch, “No.” She hated that he understood how difficult it was for her to ask; the two of them, alone, with no buffer, having to make conversation.

“Pepperoni pizza?” he asked, as he opened the door.

“Oh,” she blinked, “please. I don’t understand you and your plain margarita.”

He smirked as he closed the door, “Nothing wrong with enjoying the simple things in life, Swan.”

As the door shut she let the shock overtake her: he knew how big of a deal this was yet brushed it off, not making a fuss. Her heart warmed slightly at his consideration, knowing how she’d react if he did make a big fuss.

Then her smile dropped: he knew this was a big deal for her; that meant he knew her, well. Nobody knows her that well.

She spent the majority of the next day panicking, but when he strolled in with two pizza boxes in one arm and a hot chocolate in his hand (with cinnamon; he _was_ perceptive) and began a rant about Martha (quietly, the woman has bat hearing) that she eagerly joined in, she decided that maybe it wasn’t so bad.

The new quality of food he introduced wasn’t so bad either.

***

“I come bearing food,” the door swung open instantly as she seized the bags from his hands.

“Grilled cheese?”

“Check.”

“Onion rings?”

“Check.”

“Bear claws?”

“Check.”

“Good,” she dumped the bags on the coffee table, returning to her spot on the sofa and grabbed the remote, tucking into her lunch. “There’s not much on so… Friends re-runs? Or I could get the boxset?”

Surprisingly enough (not really) in the month they’d been officially friends they’d watched the entirety of ‘Friends’...twice.

“If we start the boxset, love,” he groaned, “we won’t stop then we’ll be here all night.”

“I can order Chinese.”

“Swan,” he turned to her, “do you actually eat any proper food?”

“What do you mean by ‘proper food’?” she asked whilst stealing one of his chips.

“Y’know,” he let her, even though she specifically asks for ‘onion rings not fries’ every time, “healthy things? Home-cooked meals?”

“Do microwavable things count?”

“No, Swan.”

“Then no.”

“Alright then,” he stole the remote, scrolling through the channels, “tomorrow night I’m cooking for you.”

“You’re what?”

“You heard, love.”

She protested a bit more after that, but he made her homemade tuna pasta the next night and from then on they alternated between take away, him cooking and him teaching her how to cook because “it’s not fair that you have one hand and can cook better than me”, which usually ended with a messy kitchen.

***

The routine they naturally slipped into over a short period of time scared Emma at first, but after about six weeks since they’d become ‘officially friends’ (dubbed by CeCe) she found that she enjoyed it too much to care.

There was one thing that she was particularly fond of:

“I was thinking I could invite you all round for a night in, crack open the alcohol, and play seven minutes in heaven, setting it up so they end up together, sexual tension will explode, BOOM! Sweet Rose is a success!”

Killain chuckled, “Swan, will two grown adults really want to play seven minutes in heaven? Also, I thought we were labelling it ‘Sugar Flower’?”

She groaned, “Fine. Truth or Dare?”

She noticed his jaw clench at that, but thought nothing of it, “I don’t think so.”

“Spin the bottle?”

“You do realise we will also be playing these games, love?”

She put her fork down, “Well we have to do something! They’re killing me! They obviously both like each other!”

He snorted, “How they don't see the other gazing longingly across the pub is a mystery.”

“We have got to set them up,” she insisted. It really annoyed her how oblivious they were - it was almost as if pining lowered your observational skills.

Killian sighed, “We could always just let nature run it's course, love.”

“Mhm,” she nodded, completely ignoring him, “Or we could save ourselves the headache and give them a gentle shove towards the other. You take Rose and I'll take CeCe.”

He murmured under his breath something that sounded like: “Bloody stubborn lass,” to which she maturely threw up her middle finger.

***

“Wait, you two actually still come here?” Candy exclaimed, seeing himself and Emma walk through the door.

“We ran out of chips,” Emma shrugged, taking a seat.

“Rose! Look! They come with ulterior motives!” She flailed dramatically, “You serve them, I can barely look.”

“Aww, Candy. I didn’t know you cared!” Killian teased.

“I’m talking about Emma; you just disgust me twenty-four seven.”

“Ah, I figured,” he nodded his head sarcastically.

“Shut up,” she stalked off to serve someone, whilst Rose made their regulars (well Killian’s regular, Emma asked for rum. He counted it as a victory).

“So why haven’t we seen you in here in the last six weeks?” Rose eyed them suspiciously.

Emma swallowed, “Well I’ve been showing Mr.Small-town Amnesiac over here some of the greatest things the world has to offer: The Princess Bride.”

Rose chuckled, “So while I’ve been shoving books down his throat-”

“I’ve been shoving movies down,” Emma grinned.

“Greatly appreciated, ladies,” he thanked.

“Guys!”

A wild Candy appeared. She professionally avoided falling flat on her face as she tripped over her heel, stopping to talk to them, “Guys. Hey, can you not be complete assholes for thirty minutes?”

“I know that’s directed at me, Candy. No need to glare.”

“Why?” Emma asked. “What’s happening?”

“Well if you’d been here the past six weeks maybe you would know,” she snapped.

“Hey,” Rose cut in, “I’ve been here and I’ve not a clue what you’re going on about.”

“Ok,” Candy sighed, “Remember Valentine’s day?”

Killian felt himself stiff at the memory of that day; Emma’s delectable lips on his; his hand in her gorgeous hair; the intoxicating smell of vanilla shampoo - yes he remembered that day, he remembered it better than any other day of his life

“Yeah,” Emma answered. Her voice sounded tight; surely she was thinking the same? Although she claimed it meant nothing he knew she was outright lying, and a selfish part of him wanted her to be affected the same way he was, “What about it?”

“Remember the date I cancelled to take in your perp?” The group nodded, “Well we rescheduled, and we’ve been going out for a while, and she’s making her way over here: don’t be jerks!”

***

With that, CeCe rushed from behind the bar to meet her, but Emma didn’t see who she was, gaze fixed on Rose’s broken expression.

Killian reached for her hand, “Rose? Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” she smiled - far from her normal smile - none of the warmth or kindness. “Why wouldn’t I be?” her voice cracked and tears pooled in her blue eyes. She looked down, “Y’know, I’m due to start on the tables soon. I’ll go back there now.”

“Rose,” Emma said gently.

“See ya tomorrow.”

Just as she disappeared, CeCe pulled over a leggy, tanned brunette. “Hey, where’d Rose go?”

“The back,” she explained. “So who’s this?”

“I’m Michelle,” the woman introduced, “and you must be Emma.”

Killian held out his hand, “Killian Jones.”

Michelle took it, clearly taken aback by his formalness, “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Emma felt her lie-detector twitch. She knew Michelle could be perfectly lovely, but because CeCe dating her meant Rose was upset he’d probably hold a grudge.

“Ignore him,” Emma reassured, although a tiny (huge) part of her wanted  to slap CeCe, “he’s an idiot.”

Michelle laughed, “So I’ve heard.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Emma saw Rose glance their way from the table she was serving, not missing the heartbroken look on her face.

God, she was going to slap CeCe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Oh, sweet Jesus this took forever! I had to completely rewrite the first half of it, finishes, then had to rewrite the second half! By the way, what do you think we should call Candy/Rose? Candy Rose? Sweet Rose? Candy Flower? Sweet Flower? Sugar Flower? Anything else? Please comment your ideas - I really want these two to have a name! Yeah they’re not together, but that doesn’t mean Emma and Killian won’t stop talking about them!
> 
> Also, an abundance of inspiration hit me for my other fic, so now I’m trying to multitask…this should be fun.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	10. Chapter 9

 [](http://s1293.photobucket.com/user/EBDaydreamer/media/TBoM%20banner_zps4ps1ibk9.png.html)

“Urgh!” A loud groan came from their table as they sat down.

“What's the matter?” Rose asked, glancing warily at CeCe as she slouched over, her now chin-length pink hair falling into her eyes.

“I just can’t believe we’re here, in a nice restaurant that probably serves lobster,” CeCe complained.

“CeCe, it’s _your_ birthday. You wanted to come here!” Emma stated.

“Yep!” CeCe sat up, a crazed look in her eye, “Because I’m twenty-seven now! I’m at the stage where people start taking life seriously, and all I have is a crappy job and a few months of college! I’ve done nothing with my life!”

“Twenty-seven isn’t _that_ old,” Rose said reassuringly.

“Aye, she’s right,” Killian agreed. “If you think your life is a mess, just look at me. I don’t even know when my birthday is let alone how old I am. I spend all my time caring for boats when I’d much rather be out sailing, but no one will hire me to do that because I lost my hand and I don’t even remember how.”

“Well thanks for the guilt trip, Jones,” CeCe mumbled and Emma was inclined to agree. Killian’s little speech had left her problems feeling quite miniscule.

“Come on Candy, you’re not doing so bad. Honestly, even if this is around the age people start taking things seriously, it doesn’t mean they have their life figured out; no twenty-something does,” Rose smiled. “Now, why don’t we get some overpriced food then go back to yours to watch tv and drink?”

“Fine,” CeCe moaned, “but I don’t have any rum at home Jones. That shit is too expensive.”

“S’alright. I can make do with beer.”

“Good, I have a lot of that.”

***

It wasn’t until they were tucking into their mains that the subject arose again. CeCe had already downed her glass of white wine with starters, so her tongue was even looser than usual, “I do regret it, y’know.”

“Regret what?” Rose inquired, curious eyes turning to her.

“Dropping out of school,” CeCe mumbled, reaching for her wine.

Emma cocked her head, “Why did you drop out? You’ve never said.”

“That’s because I need a lot of alcohol for that conversation,” she gulped down some more of her drink, “I mean, I don’t want to be a waitress for the rest of my life! My parents were so pissed when I told them - they didn’t want me to go to that fucking school in the first place! They wanted me to study law!” Only pausing to drink, Emma realised that they may have to cut her off, even if it was only her second glass. “Imagine! Me! A lawyer!”

There was a silence as CeCe’s pink head banged the table.

***

Another conversation didn’t strike up until they’d finished their mains.

“So Rose,” Killian began, “how’s the library doing? You on track for the end of the year?”

Rose nodded, her eyes growing distant as she thought about something she was passionate about, “Ahead, actually. I’m thinking about starting looking into how much renovations will cost; I’ve got a pretty good idea of what I want now.”

“That’s fantastic,” Killian grinned. Setting down his beer he glanced around the table, “So are we getting dessert or shall we depart for Candy’s?”

“No, I’m full,” Rose sighed.

“Same,” Candy groaned from her little spot of despair she’d built herself.

“Swan?”

“Well…”

“If you really want I’ll buy you a bear claw on the way back,” he negotiated, knowing better than to deprive Emma Swan of sugar.

“Deal.”

“Right,” Candy sat up, “so you guys pay for our ridiculously expensive meal so we can go back to my shit-hole, get wasted and complain about adulthood. Sound fun?”

Emma grinned, “Just another Sunday night.”

***

“It’s not _my_ fault the place wasn’t open Swan.”

Emma ignored him, “We had a deal, Jones! I skip dessert and you buy me something after we go to CeCe’s! We were there fifteen fucking minutes before her girlfriend showed up and we got kicked out - who, by the way, she’s only been dating for two months when I’ve known her for nearly a year now - who does that? And now we’re here, on the way up to the seventh floor of our building, and you’ve not got me _any fucking sugar_.”

Gods she got hangry when she was tipsy; he was tempted to give her his flask so she’d get to the stage of carefree drunk. Unfortunately for everyone, he had drunk a fair amount of rum, enough to lower his inhibitions.

“You know, if you want something sweet, love, I’ve got a little _treat_ for you,”  the innuendo slipped out, almost by habit, but it’d been a while since he slipped one at a woman _this_ pissed off at him.

Her glare was full of a fire that lit up her stunning green eyes and bloody hell she was beautiful. His craving to get a reaction out of her was still unsatisfied after all these months, but tonight she was a boiling pot; maybe his desire would finally be quenched.

***

Her blood boiled at his words; so he wanted to go _there_ did he?

“Here’s some advice: if you want to get laid don’t go around claiming your _treat_ is _little._ ”

He chuckled, “Excuse my modesty. You want honesty? You call me a pirate, and I can assure you: when I jab you with my sword you’ll feel it.”

“‘When’ is a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?” she hissed. When did this elevator get so small?

“You’re the one who calls me a pirate; I assumed you must like cocky.” Is that eyebrow alive, or is he just a douchebag? Probably both.

“Seriously? Do these lines ever work?” her voice had lowered now, and somehow they’d moved closer, so much so that she couldn’t hear the shrieks of the elevator over his heaving breathing (or was it hers?)

“Well according to you love, I’m ‘just a dick that likes to piss people off’,” his words sounded alarmingly familiar, then she was hit with the memory of a summer night that she’d tried to spend wallowing in her own sadness until some idiot had moved in across the hall and made that impossible.

“I stand by that,” she breathed, inhaling the air he exhaled, “and don’t call me ‘love’.”

“You know you love it... _love_ ,” he emphasised the ‘v’.

That fucking eyebrow and the shit-eating grin.

She seized his jacket, sliding her lips over his. He melted into her immediately, his tongue requesting access to her mouth which she happily granted. It was a mess but it felt so fucking good. Their hands were everywhere: hair, arms, backs, necks; and soon his slide down to her thigh, hitching it over his.

Their need for oxygen was timed almost perfectly to the ding of the elevator opening. They stumbled out and she found herself swiftly shoved against the wall of the corridor. He bit down on her lip, causing a moan to slip out of her. This seemed to ignite something in him, as he growled, a low, sexy sound, and briefly attacked her mouth before moving down her cheek until he was sucking on her neck and _yep that would leave a mark_.

“Move,” she demanded, pulling him towards 7B,  scouring her pockets for her keys.

“Demanding, Swan. I like it,” he slipped his hand from behind her, revealing her keys.

“Pirate,” she whispered, racing towards the door.

“Knew you liked it.” His arm slipped around her waist as she fiddled with the keys, lips reattaching to her neck.

“Shut up,” the door finally opened.

He smirked, “ _Trust_ me, darling, you won’t be saying that when we’re through.”

They slammed the door to her apartment shut, both too preoccupied with each other to notice Mr.Wilkies standing in the doorway to 7A.

“I knew it,” he whispered to himself, closing the door. Martha owed him twenty bucks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: School's out! YAY! More writing time!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Please keep telling me what Emma and Killian should label Candy/Rose as!


	11. Chapter 10

 [](http://s1293.photobucket.com/user/EBDaydreamer/media/TBoM%20banner_zps4ps1ibk9.png.html)

When the heinous time known as ‘morning’ came around, Emma was surprised at how warm she was. It was only after a few seconds of consciousness did she realise that she was not alone in bed, but a very naked man was behind her, a strong arm wrapped around her waist. Confusion washed over her as her sleep addled brain tried to make sense of the situation: it was morning, she never stayed until morning and this was definitely her bedroom; it was her bedroom and she never had someone over as it was easier to avo-shiiiit!

Last night flooded back to her, hitting her even worse than New Year’s. Springing upright, Emma felt Killian stir next to her.

“Hey! Jones! Up!” she violently shook him, desperate to get him out.

“Emma,” Jesus fucking Christ that man’s morning voice did things to her, though nowhere near as bad as him saying her name las-

No! Bad brain!

“Out!” She screeched, throwing his clothes at him.

“Swan, wha-” he mumbled.

“I said out, Jones. Are you deaf?”

He smirked, “Well you were pretty loud-”

“Get out!” The bastard took his damn time putting his clothes on, to the point where all he had was boxers and half a pant leg on and she grasped his arm and dragged him towards the door.

“Oi! Watch the nails, love,” his face was screwed up as he tumbled behind her, tripping over the step-up as well as nearly falling over the carpet.

She threw him out the door, hissing, “Do. Not. Call. Me. That.”

The door promptly slammed.

***

Killian wasn't sure how long he spent staring at the door, eyes tracing the faded-gold ‘7B’, his brain trying to catch up with what the bloody hell just happened.

_‘Gods you were an arse last night.’_

‘But she kissed me…’

‘ _But she_ had _had quite a bit to drink.’_

‘That might just have been the greatest night of my life.’

_‘She is going to kill you! Or worse: never talk to you again.’_

**‘She can’t avoid you forever; you have the same group of friends and her door is about three yards away from yours.’**

‘I can always find another pub - or I could just leave.’

**‘You are** **_not_ ** **leaving just because this bloody stubborn woman has walls so high that she can’t even begin to admit her feelings for you.’**

‘Yeah...wait what? Feelings? Since when?’

**‘Well she wouldn’t have kept you around if she didn’t like you.’**

_‘Not strictly true, maybe she was just tired of trying to get you to bugger off.’_

‘Maybe she just likes my friendship?’

**‘Yes, dumbo, because last night was just friendly wasn’t it?’**

Killian ran his hand over his face, trying to chase away these thoughts, internally debating with himself. He knew Emma had her heart guarded tight, but he’d like to think that he was steadily climbing those walls - that, if nothing else, last night proved that she was starting to let him in - that he was getting to her. If her letting him in was a step-by-step process then surely this was another?  Letting him explore her physically-

But gods above he wanted more. He wanted to know every nook and cranny of her; physically, mentally, emotionally...he wanted it all. He longed to hold her and kiss her and support her and laugh and smile and joke.

Vividly, he recalled a conversation in the library with Rose: _“you’re afraid” “I certainly didn't take you for a quitter” “I’m not a coward” “Can't quit what you never started”._

He was right: he _wasn’t_ a coward; but he was also wrong: he’d started on Emma Swan since he first laid eyes on her.

If she didn’t want to face him for a while he could live with that; he’d respect her wishes. But now he’s putting effort into winning her heart - and he _will_ win it.

***

_‘Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!’_

‘Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!’

**‘Are you done? My head hurts.’**

_‘How could you be so stupid?’_

**‘Haven’t we already covered the stupid thing?’**

‘I was drunk!’

_‘You weren’t that drunk! You were damn curious, AGAIN! Look what happened to the cat!’_

**‘But satisfaction brought it back - and I’d say she was plenty satisfied last night.’**

‘Shut up.’

_‘ Besides, if you were drunk enough you probably would’ve forgotten most of last night - which you clearly haven’t considering you’re agonising over every detail.’_

‘No I’m not.’

**‘Reason Number Twelve.’**

_‘Just forget about last night! Avoid him!’_

‘How? It’s not like I’m practised at running into one-night stands!’

**‘One night stand? You like him you idiot!’**

_‘Congratulations, you’ve let him in! Now no matter what you’re going to get your heart broken.’_

**‘What if it turns out ok?’**

‘It won’t, because nothing else is going to happen; there are no feelings.’

_‘Lies.’_

**‘Lies.’**

‘I’m not thinking about this, I’m not thinking about this…’

**‘Get out of Egypt and away from denial.’**

‘I’m not in denial!’

**‘Really? Then why are you thinking about how great it was? Was it not some of, if not** **_the_ ** **best sex of your life?’**

_‘It doesn’t matter, because you’re going to ignore him.’_

**‘Do you really want to explain to Rose and CeCe why though?’**

‘I _want_ to stop thinking about it.’

_‘Then stop!’_

**‘Then stop!’**

‘Then shut up!’

Emma hit her head against the wall. As much as she loathes to admit, she’d been pondering about this since she met him- the man got under her skin so easily - and last night was so similar to that night, the unresolved sexual tension finally exploded. To be honest, it was probably the best sex she’d ever had, something she’d rather put down to his skill than the possibility of feelings. To be honest, her body screamed at her to do it again; she could always attempt a friend with benefits situation, but knew that never ended well, that it would probably become more; yet a small part of her begged the question: **‘Would that be so bad?’** _‘Shut up Hope, you don’t know shit!’_

To be honest? She wanted to hide in her room until he left just like everyone else. To be honest, she wanted to leave.

But to be honest she wanted to stay; she wanted to stay with him.

To be honest she was terrified.

***

Mr. Wilkies silently observed the young man who appeared quite trouble in the middle of the hallway. He’d emerged when he heard a door slam shut, discovering a distressed Killian Jones facing 7B.

Eventually, he turned back to 7C, probably realising he was only half dressed, or that staring at doors do not magically open them. Smirking, Mr. Wilkies trotted across the hall and knocked on 7D. The door swung open and a fully dressed, overly cheery for the morning (and life in general) Martha greeted him.

“Mr. Wilkies, dear! How are you?”

“I know you heard,” he cut to the chase, he wanted to go back to sleep as soon as possible, “I’ll have my twenty dollars now.”

Martha sighed, trotting back inside for a moment, “I’m not a betting person Mr. Wilkies, but you seem to enjoy it. I’m glad you won. I hope those two kids hit it off,” she beamed.

“From the yelling we heard last night it seems they have some issues to work through,” he took the money. “A pleasure as always, Martha. Maybe with the next lot of neighbours you’ll come out victorious.”

“Muffin?” she held out a basket, (her pockets must be like Mary Poppins) but he’d already gone.

As much fun as the unobservant Martha was to bet with, she was highly annoying, almost to the point he wished he could ignore her completely.

Almost. Speculating over Mr Jones and Miss Swan was just far too entertaining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m beginning to really like Mr.J.Wilkies.  
> Also, would anyone be interested in seeing some ‘deleted scenes’ from this fic?  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	12. Chapter 11

 [](http://s1293.photobucket.com/user/EBDaydreamer/media/TBoM%20banner_zps4ps1ibk9.png.html)

Giving Emma her space had been harder than expected.

It wasn’t just a matter of rearranging his shifts at the docks with a colleague to avoid The Tavern; no. They still got in the same time, and he doesn’t think he could survive a tedious lift ride with her. So when he saw her stood waiting, he snuck past and used the staircase instead - he could probably do with the workout anyways. He’d also changed his laundry night to a laundry morning, unfortunately meaning he had to make small talk with Martha and her friend from the fifth floor.

Oh joy.

Crap, he missed her; her laugh, her smile, her eye roll, her insults...everything. It had only been a week since she threw him out the door, but according to his co-workers (Joseph and Callum, who shared his shift and were the only people he reluctantly was forced to interact with) there had been a noticeable change in this short time period and he knew it. Along with the ignorance of everyone around him, his concentration had dropped and he grew exceedingly irritable. He tried to pin it on the lack of sleep (not a lie) but Joseph (the old hand) just stared pityingly at him and Callum (the newbie) teased him, claiming it was obviously girl troubles.

He hated his job, but he hated not talking to Emma more.

Long ago he had become addicted on Emma Swan - now he was struggling to cope without her.

Despite the unspoken promise he made to give her space and time, he craved the friendship that had become so valuable to him over the past couple of months. Gods, what he wouldn’t give just to talk to her again, like they used to as they ate greasy foods and as credits rolled. The only person he had proper conversations with were Rose - who kindly stopped questioning him after fifteen minutes of brooding that first day - and the lack of social interaction stirred something within him, negative emotions bubbling in his chest, leaving him to briefly question what had happened in his past; something he hadn't questioned since meeting Emma.

He _had_ to talk to her again; _soon_.

He wouldn't give up.

***

_Reasons why pursuing a romantic relationship with Killian Jones is a bad idea:_

_1\. He’s an ass (and has an attractive one)_

_2\. He’s an obnoxious douchebag (well, he can be)_

_3\. Innuendos. Constantly_

_4\. It would be really awkward if we broke up (because it isn’t already awkward)_

_5\. I’d never get anything done_

_6\. I may let him get close (he already is)_

_7\. He doesn’t even know who he is - what if he gets his memories back and is actually a horrible person?_

8\. Or worse: what if he leaves?

Using all her might, Emma went over this mental list countless times to reprimand herself for thinking otherwise. She ignored the part of her creating a different list:

_Reasons why dating Killian Jones could be a great idea:_

 1.  _ _He knows when to stop pushing__

It was unexpected when for the entirety of Monday he made no attempts to communicate with her in any way. After the last time she was avoiding him, he’d heavily hinted at having feelings for her, so when he was giving her space she was slightly awed. Then she remembered all those times she saw something in his eyes - like he was about to ask - after she deliberately closed up and yet he stood silent. How had she only just realised that he saw her walls and didn’t try barging through with a sledgehammer?

  1. _He’s good company_
  2. _He can cook_



Admittedly, the past few days had been rather dull, in both that her only form of company was the Michelle-centred CeCe and the heartbroken Rose and her lack of ‘proper food’. She’d tried making tuna pasta on Wednesday but had to bin it; it wasn’t the same as his.

  1. _I already know he’s good in bed_
  2. _We already know each other, period_



Not that she’d noticed, but Killian already knew more about her than any other person ever (except maybe...no, brain. Dangerous territory, back up!), and she knew a fair deal about him (probably not too much more than he did); the only thing they hadn’t really done was talk about anything too emotional - the kind of things you talk about in a relationship.

She loathed that she wanted to.

  1. _He’s a fucking gentleman_



How anyone can be a gentleman without actually coming near her is truly baffling, but Killian manages it. She _knows_ he took up the worst shifts at work to avoid the tavern; she _knows_ he changed his precious laundry night; and she knows all about his goddamn journeys up the stairs every evening so she could ride the elevator and not be stuck in a small environment with him.

Fuck him.

  1. _He’s so hot you’d never get anything done_



That could be seen as both good and bad depending on your perspective - Emma wanted to say it was bad, but her body screamed ‘GOOD!’.

  1. _Maybe it’s time I grow up and try a proper, committed, adult relationship_



The fact that _CeCe_ was in a more mature relationship than she’d ever been was scary, but not as scary as:

  1. _I want to_



***

‘It was too late to be thinking about my pathetic excuse for a love life,’ Emma tried to convince herself, ‘I have a ‘date’ tomorrow, I should get some fucking sleep’. Alas, she was forced to accept that she was horrible at convincing herself of anything when it involved him.

Fuck, she _missed_ him - innuendos and all. Scarily, she didn’t hate that anymore. She didn’t hate that she could trust and rely on him. She didn’t hate that she wanted that adult relationship with him. But it fucking terrified her.

Her hand toyed with the cool chain resting on her chest, remembering the silent vow she made herself over nine years ago: to let this be a reminder, a warning: ‘ _don’t trust anyone_.’

It did a fucking fantastic job.

Giving up on the notion of sleep, making a subconscious decision when she marched towards the door. Temporarily, her fear was outweighed by her need to see him.

The door was open and her foot was out when her phone vibrated on the kitchen counter.

She almost ignored it - then she saw the his name.

That dangerous curiosity won out again (she hadn’t thought herself that curious; until she met him) and she picked up her phone and looked at her texts, seeing a simple, one line question:

_K: So how was your day?_

Fear snapped back into place as she shut the door and sat on her couch, ignoring the voice that claimed she was chickening out.

_E: What do you want?_

_K: I thought that would be obvious, love. I’m politely inquiring how your day was._

_E: Why?_ was her reply, and she had to say she wasn’t surprised at his use of endearments in a text.

_K: Well, believe it or not, Swan, I care for you. And typically, when one person cares about another, they ask about their wellbeing._

_E: Ok, but why are you texting me?_

There was a few minute wait for his next text, and she absolutely spent every second agonising over what he may say.

_K: Swan, I don’t know exactly what we are, or what you want us to be - but this past week has been torture not speaking with you, and I don’t wish to continue to do that to myself. I figured that this would be easier than face to face conversations so you can have your space._

Fucking gentleman. How was it he found a way to give her space whilst also letting her quench her craving for him? For a fleeting second she was tempted to tell him that she wanted him here, now, preferably in her bedroom; but that fear rose up again.

_E: My day was alright. I tracked a guy down and I’m seeing him tomorrow night_

_K: Ah, the great Emma Swan in action. ;-)_

_E: So what about you? What’ve you been up to?_

Everyone has their vices: Killian Jones was her’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey!!!!  
> So update: I am writing some deleted scenes and the first one will be what really happened on Candy’s birthday.  
> Also, if there are longer breaks in between future chapters, it is because of one of two reasons:  
> 1\. I’m working on three other things at the same time (I’m not good at multitasking)  
> 2\. I have started watching iZombie  
> Come say hi to me on tumblr! ebdaydreamer.tumblr.com, I get bored.  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	13. Chapter 12

 [](http://s1293.photobucket.com/user/EBDaydreamer/media/TBoM%20banner_zps4ps1ibk9.png.html)

The texting thing continued, every so often, then a lot, until it was part of her nightly ritual: eat and TV, shower/bath, pjs on, get in bed, text Killian, sleep. Truthfully, she wasn’t shocked or even weirded out at how easily it was to slip him back into her life, like he belonged. What did weird her out was how contrasting their real life relationship had become to their one through text. Obviously, it was near impossible to avoid him in the real world - he lived right across the hall for Christ’s sake - but whenever they saw each other anyone who didn’t know them would think that they had one, simple layer to their relationship: neighbours. Nods in the hall, small talk at laundry night and in the elevator (one night she’d convinced him to stop with the seven flights of stairs)... all things you’d expect from normal neighbours. Really, it’s weird, and not just because it’s weird to treat someone you’ve seen naked the same way you treat Mr. Wilkies. No, it’s weird to treat Killian like she doesn’t know him; like he doesn’t know her; like he hasn’t already slipped past her walls despite her best efforts; like she doesn’t want him.

***

The nightly texting becomes sort of a lifeline, for both of them. Painfully, she recalls the first night he didn’t text back:

_E: I have ammunition against CC’s gf!_

_E: Are you ready?_

_E: She hates cats, dogs, bunnies...basically all things cute_

_E: Like really hates them_

_E: I mean, she IS allergic to cat hair and I get that dogs aren’t for everyone BUT HOW DOES SHE HATE BUNNIES?_

_E: Jones?_

_E: Anyone there?_

_E: Your shift’s over I know you’re there._

_E: Are you ignoring me?_

_E: Killian?_

The first emotion that hit was anger; at him, at herself. Even without actually seeing her face to face for ages he manages to leave her, and she let him get close.

The next emotion was fear: what if something had happened at work? What if he was in the hospital? Who was his emergency contact - someone in Maine?

She spent half an hour in a flurry of anger and fear, never quite settling on one completely, her hand recklessly pulling on the chain around her neck, a voice hissing: _‘I told you so’._

Then her phone vibrated.

_K: Apologies, Swan. I had a meeting at work with my boss, sorry for any alarm I caused._

_K: As for your ammunition I agree: she’s truly a monster._

Relief hummed through her body: he wasn’t trying to leave her - he was alright.

_E: Why do I feel like you’re winding me up?_

_K: Because I am, love._

_E: I thought you hated her!_

_K: It’s hard to hate her when she hasn’t actually done anything, it’s Candy I wouldn’t mind giving a good shake._

_E: But we need Michelle gone for Sweet Flower_

_K: I thought it was Sugar Rose._

_E: ONE DAY, I SWEAR TO GOD!_

Grinning at the memory, Emma dragged up the multiple times a skip had kept her away from her warm bed for too long, and Killian had panicked, frightened that she’d run or he’d done something, and she couldn’t blame him - she’d be the same if she met herself.

Deep down, she knew she should have run long ago - when her stupid lease was up - but she doesn’t think she’d survive that now. Although, if her heart was going to be broken she’d much rather it be on her own accord, yet that stupid, hopeful part of her said he was different. She trusted her gut; it was usually right.

***

She really needed to do something about that pesky curiosity of hers.

It was a Saturday night, and she was watching ‘The Big Bang Theory’, whilst Killian was doing the same across the hall, and the pair were texting back and forth about the show.

_E: I just don’t get how you’re favourite ISN’T Sheldon! He’s soooo funny!_

_K: Be that as it may, I prefer Leonard._

_E: Why?_

_K: I can relate to him._

Emma pretended to not know what he meant, pretended to not draw the parallels between herself and Penny (burned by past love, commitment issues, have feeling towards their neighbour but let said issues hold them back).

_K: I hope he and Penny get back together._

Emma didn’t know whether she wanted him to overanalyse or not, but she replied:

_E: Me too_

It was later the same night when he ugly curiosity reared up once again.

_E: Killian?_

_K: What is it, Swan?_

_E: You said this would be easier, why? How?_

The flutter of her stomach dizzying. Mercifully, she had to wait all of two seconds for his reply.

_K: It’s easier not to kiss you_

She’d be lying if she said she was surprised - she felt the same.

***

_K: Rose is going out for her birthday on Sunday._

_E: You’re going too_

_K: Yeah._

_K: I don’t have to go._

_E: Yes you do. She’s your friend too. We can still have conversations right?_

_K: Well we have been practising._

_E: :p_

_K: Mature, Swan._

Relief and anticipation washed over Killian. They were going to hang out again, be in the same space for more than ten minutes, have a proper conversation face to face.

“What’s got into you?” Rose asked, casting a quick glance at him before returning to whatever plans or paperwork she was studying.

His grin grew wider, “Not much.”

“You're texting Emma aren't you?”

He was pretty sure he looked like a child would if their birthday came early, “Aye, we were just discussing your birthday celebrations this weekend.”

At an impossible speed, a mop of brown hair whipped up, “You’re _both_ going?”

Hope was in her tone and delight in her eyes as he shrugged, “Well it is your birthday, Rose. You’ve expressed a desire to have all your friends in the same place for the first time in over a month, and it would be bad form to disrespect those wishes.”

“So you’re saying that this is my birthday present?” she stood up and stomped up to him, still dwarfed by him even in her towering heels, “You two putting aside whatever ridiculous thing that has been going on for one day?”

Gods, when she put it like that it sounded awful. He stammered, “Well...I...”

She groaned, “That came out wrong. What I meant was ... I’m expecting a little bit more than that as a present.”

“Ah!” he scratched his ear, “Well then. Anything in mind?”

“Yeah…” she sighed, leaning against the table, “Call off the bet.”

Bemusement passed over him until he remembered the conversation they had what felt like a lifetime ago.

“Ah.”

“It’s just,” Rose choked, “Candy has a girlfriend now...and I don’t want to make things in our group even more awkward than they already are.”

Guilt bubbled in his chest as he watched his friend drag herself across the room. With Michelle and he and Emma not physically seeing one another; he’d seen her grow almost weaker, less motivated to do anything - even her enthusiasm for the library had dwindled.

It appeared she noticed this as her eyes grew wide, “No offense! I get it.” She sighed, reseating herself, “Believe me I know difficult relationships...though mine was probably a bit more extreme.”

“What happened to you Rose? In Boston?” She’d mentioned something similar before: a crappy relationship history and a different motivation other than her Dad for moving - it wasn’t too far outside the realms of possibility to assume the two were connected.

Coyly, she looked him in the eye, a sarcastic smirk on her face, “What happened with you and Emma?”

“Fair enough,” he conceded. “Bet’s off.”

Gratefully, her smirk shifted, “Thanks.”

After a moment of silence, he changed the subject, “So, do you have reservations for Sunday?”

At first he thought she ignored him, but after a moment of her shuffling through papers, a flyer  for ‘Caitlyn’s’ was in his face. It read: _‘Special Mother’s Day offer! May 8 - May 15!_ ’

He chuckled, “So we’re getting the Mother’s Day special?”

“You want to complain about 40% off?”

***

Despite her optimistic texts to Killian, Emma was petrified. She didn’t know if she was capable of spending an extended amount of time around him without wanting to jump his bones again- or worse: let him resume getting close. Although Killian had come up with this new way of communication to give her time to think about what she wanted them to become, she hadn’t let herself even approach the topic.

**‘Because deep down you know what you want’**

What she wanted frightened her beyond words: the last time she wanted that it was a hurricane that lived fast hard and died hard and young.

The thought was chased away by another: how the hell were they supposed to act around CeCe and Rose? It’s not like they could ignore the last month, not with CeCe’s mouth. They’d be questions; most he wouldn’t answer and she definitely didn’t want to.

Silently, she was thankful Michelle had un-invited herself (despite Rose’s polite protests), saying that she wasn’t part of their little group.

_‘Suck it up, Swan. You can do this. There won’t be a scene; we’ll be to busy celebrating Rose’s birthday. You’re Emma-freaking-Swan. You can do anything you set your mind to.’_

Except make up her mind over her feelings for her neighbour, apparently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hi! So still no deleted scenes but I’ve been busy with life and other stuff…  
> Such as the new Harry Potter book which I’ll start as soon as this is posted.  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	14. Chapter 13

‘Caitlyn’s’ was a relaxed yet classy place that could only be described as Rose-esque. Unlike Candy’s big freakout on her birthday, Rose was quite cheerful as Candy strolled up to greet her outside the restaurant.

“Well aren’t you energetic this morning?” Rose teased. “I thought you had brunch everyday.”

“Because I’m never up in time for breakfast,” she mumbled. She had slept through her alarm clock and she was positive that the result of that was her looking like a hot mess. It had taken all of her concentration to actually walk in a straight line in her heels, something she could do blindfolded carrying a mountain of food at night time. A gargantuan amount of effort had gone into her makeup, and she was positive her liquid eyeliner was smudged. In her haste to arrive on time she’d thrown on the nearest necklace - which just so happened to be a three row - getting it caught in her hair, leaving pink threads in between the beads. To top it off, she had gulped down a cup of coffee on her way out, only to spill it down her dress (needless to say she thought it wise to wear a black one instead of purple).

Yep; a hot mess.

Rose, on the other hand resembled a poised, elegant, sophisticated adult in a short, vintage skater dress with a gold and black print. Her hair was in a simple updo, showing off her golden hoops. Teasingly, she folded her bare freckled arms and pretended to be cross with her weary demeanor, “Now is that any way to greet the birthday girl?”

“I’ll greet you properly after two mo- no three more cups of coffee,” she groaned. “Who gets up at this ungodly hour anyway?”

“Hello night owl, meet morning person.”

“I don’t like morning people.”

“Well, you’re stuck with me now,” she giggled, and at the sound Candy couldn’t help but smile.

“Well I’m not alone! Our other friends aren’t here yet either!” she protested.

Rose sighed, “I just hope they haven’t killed each other.”

“Agreed,” Candy nodded. “Oh!” her eyes widened as she remembered something. “I might as well give this to you now…” she pulled an unwrapped box out of her excessively large handbag. “For you.”

Rose happily took the box off her and eagerly opened it, revealing an elegant necklace. She lifted it out of the box, a blush rising on her cheeks, “Wow! I love it! Thank you!”

“Rose quartz,” Candy grinned shyly.

She giggled, beamed broadly, “Put it on!” She turned around, handing her the necklace.

Candy moved closer, brushing the stray strands of hair from her neck, inhaling Rose’s honey shampoo and the smell of old books that seemed to cling to her. She gulped as she scolded herself: _‘You have a girlfriend, you have a girlfriends, you have a girlfriend!’_

Ten minutes later, the two were still alone and their other friends were nowhere in sight.

“What time is it? And by that mean how late are they? I need to know how much I should torture them before I kill them,” she moaned.

“Torturing can wait until tomorrow,” Rose demanded, reaching into the gold sequined flower by her side for her phone (if the sight of her carrying anything but a book bag wasn’t enough). “They’re only late by ten minutes. Surely Emma’s not killed him...right?”

Abruptly perking up, she asked, “Who knows with those two. Do you know what’s going on with them?”

“No, Killian’s not said anything.”

“How is he, by the way? Considering I don’t see him anymore,” she inquired.

A stand of hair fell into her blue eyes and Candy longed to push it back for her, “He’s putting on brave face, though he’s clearly not happy. I just wish I knew what happened - then I might be able to help.”

“You grab one I grab the other?” she suggested.

“Huh?”

She moved to face her, “I grab Emma, you grab Killian, and we make them tell us. They can’t say no because we’ll just tell them that the other is probably spilling their guts.”

She snorted, “That won’t work.”

“Emma may be good at catching bad guys but I can make anyone crack; I’ve been told I’m quite overwhelming.”

She laughed again, “True.”

Comfortable silence passed over them until after impatiently toying with her bracelet, Candy wondered, “Where the hell are they?”

***

Glaring at her wardrobe, Emma mentally chastised herself, ‘It’s Rose’s birthday. I am dressing for a fancy brunch. I do not care what Killian Jones thinks. I will not dress for him. If I choose to wear something nice, it is because I want to and not because I give any shits about whether or not he is looking at me, and whether or not his jaw has dropped.’

Throwing aside another few dresses, Emma almost gave up and called Rose, claiming she was ill. However, she quickly shut that idea down when she knew it would just prompt Killian to come over and take care of her.

Her. Killian. Alone. In her apartment.

Nooooo. No. Nope. She can not go there. She can not ruin this friendship with a whirlwind relationship consisting of mostly sex that crashed and burnt out. Broken people, broken heart, broken relationships.

Deciding to go with her traditional ‘Fuck it’ attitude, she grabbed a lace blue dress with a high neckline that stopped just above her knees. As she wrapped a red belt around her waist she told herself: ‘So what if I attract his attention? In the winter he stared at my ugly pajamas so it’s not like he has high standards. If he stares, just ignore it. In fact; ignore him, period.’

Aware that she would neglect this piece of advice later but also aware of the time, Emma grabbed some heels and made towards the door. As she fastened her shoes her eye caught something on a chair; the reason she bought said shoes - to match it.

Her jacket.

Her _armour_.

Hastily deciding to fuck the sun outside, she jerked on her jacket and stormed out the door.

This was going to be a long day.

***

“Hello ladies,” Killian greeted, smoothing down his navy shirt.

“Hey Jones,” Candy nodded, “Long time no see. How’ve you been?”

“Do you care?”

“Not particularly; where’s Emma? Did she chicken out? Tell me if she chickened out and I’ll go and slap her.”

“I don’t know, Coccino, I haven’t seen her this morning,” he replied. Pulling Rose into a hug, he said, “Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks, Killian,” she patted his back. “I’m sure she’ll come.”

“Well, she does hate morni-”

“I TOLD YOU I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE!”

“Candy,” Rose hissed, “this is a nice place, keep it down.”

As Candy mumbled what may have been an apology, Rose sighed, “Should we go in now or wait out here?”

“I can wait.”

“Are you wearing six and a half inch death traps on your feet?” Candy snapped. “No? Didn’t think so. When you are then you can decide whether we sit down or not,” she grabbed both his and Rose’s arm, steering them towards the exit when a shout came from behind them.

“I’m here! Sorry,” she jogged in her heels with practised ease, stopping to hug Rose and wish her happy birthday. “I was...curling my hair.”

Her face was flushed red, - whether from running or her jacket or both - her curled hair was windswept and she was wearing minimal makeup: but it was his first proper good look at her in over a month and she looked nothing but beautiful.

It was only when she moved did he realise that Rose and Candy were already making their way inside. As Emma reached for the door he leaned over her, catching the door and holding it open, earning him a shy nod of thanks.

Emma Swan and shy; not two things he’d usually connect in his mind.

***

Surprisingly, conversation flowed easily and the feared awkwardness was absent. Rose and Candy were clearly taken aback by this, and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t either. Everything was normal again. Well, it was for the most part.

They were well into their food and himself and Rose were conversing about the latest book she’d suggested (*cough* force him to *cough*) he read.

“Come on! Even you must have found that difficult to read!” Rose whined.

Grinning he shook his head, “You see, the doctors have said my mind is still very impressionable, so it makes sense that I can understand it, given the amount of classic books I read after I woke.”

“You still go to a doctor? Since when?” Candy asked.

“Believe it or not I don’t tell you lot everything, Coccino,” he retorted. “And it’s only once every six weeks - unless they’re concerned about something.”

“Amnesia aside; everyone has that one book that’s too hard to read. I mean it’s the gothic genre! It’s complicated!” Rose interrupted and he chuckled shaking his head.

“You know what?” Candy piped back up, “I need to do a thing. Emma come with me.”

“Huh? What?” the bewildered blonde asked.

Rose groaned, “Candy, you weren’t serious, were you?”

“You bet your ass. Emma. Bathroom. Now,” she tugged on her arm.

Quizzically, Killian turned to an exasperated Rose, “What was that about?”

“Candy’s master plan,” she muttered. “She’s grilling Emma on what happened with you two.”

“She thinks that’ll work?” He raised a brow, “It’s Emma.”

“It’s Candy,” she replied, plainly.

“Fair enough,” he conceded. “So what? Now you have to interrogate me?”

“Ding ding,” she leant on the table and gave him her signature warm smile.

Although she claimed she would question him, she merely looked at him, patiently waiting, eyes swirling with understanding and curiosity. It was more powerful than any interrogation.

“Alright, fine! I'll tell you,” he conceded.

A brief spark of victory flashed in her eyes before quickly scolded her expression, informing him she was listening. He sighed, instantly regretting a lot of things, “You remember Candy’s birthday?”

“Went to a fancy restaurant for adults then went to Candy’s flat to, how Emma put it, ‘party like college students’,” she recited.

“Aye, well,” he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, “you know how we had quite a bit to drink?”

Her face dropped, “Does this end well?”

He didn't answer, “You remember how I promised to buy Emma some dessert?” Rose merely stated cautiously at him, “Well everywhere was shut so she was pissed and in my drunken state I was…”

“An arse? A cocky little shit?”

“Let's go for an arse, shall we?”

“So what?” She flailed her arms in confusion, “You got into a fight? You two fight all the time; why did this one lead to you two not talking to each other for over a month?” She questioned. “You didn't insult The Princess Bride, did you?”

“Gods no!” he defended, feeling affronted. “No, we…” dear gods help him now “We slept together.”

She froze. Killian silently studied her as her jaw gradually dropped. After a few moments she yelled, “I'm sorry, YOU WHAT?”

Many heads turned to them and Rose’s cheeks tinged pink. “You what?” she hissed.

Deciding not to answer yet again, he continued, “We didn't speak for a week. I was trying to give her space but…” he shrugged, “I cracked. I texted her and we've been texting every night. Today is the first time we’ve talked since.”

After blinking for a few seconds, Rose merely said, “Huh.”

“Yeah, that's it.”

“No I meant you won the bet,” Rose quipped. “Please tell me you've not just given up on her.”

“Of course not,” he defended.

“Then ask her out!”

He sighed, “This is Emma we're talking about. If I ask her she’ll pull away.”

Rose nodded, “Like a wild animal; you've got to let her come to you.”

“Funny,” he deadpanned.

Rose rolled her eyes, “Killian, take it from someone who waited too long: tell her how you feel, alright? Because someday it’ll be too late and you’ll have wasted so much time worrying about scaring her off. And if anyone should know about wasting time it’s you.”

His brows shot up, “Me?”

She pushed back some stray strands of hair, “Killian, did you even think about who you were before your accident? You could’ve had dreams, ambition, hope for the future and all that disappeared instantly. So, yeah, you should know about wasted time: because now, all that time before your accident was wasted.”

Killian swallowed and took a gulp of his drink. Rose was right: he should know about wasted time. But asking Emma out would inevitably lead to her running and therefore losing her friendship; something he could never cope with.

At his silence Rose smiled sympathetically, “She likes you, Killian. That’s why she’s scared. And with any luck Candy will be knocking that right out of her.”

***

“Ow! Hey! What the hell?” Emma brushed CeCe off of her once they entered the bathroom.

CeCe ignored her, “Bitch, you’re going to tell me right now ‘what the hell’ has been going on between you and Jones!”

Without hope, Emma decided to play dumb, “What makes you think anything has been going on?”

CeCe crossed her arms, glaring up at her, “Don’t. Me and Rose have been talking and there is literally no point in pretending we don’t see the yearning looks and doey eyes.”

“I don’t yearn,” she protested abruptly.

CeCe scoffed, “Sure, tell that to your face this past half hour.”

“I’m not leaving until I give you something am I?” Emma groaned.

CeCe shook her head, “And even if you don’t Rose is out there grilling Killian as we speak.”

Emma clenched her jaw, accepting defeat. She knows she’s stubborn, but she’s no match for Candice Coccino. Deciding not to drag it out she blurted, “I slept with him.”

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish, but she recovered quickly, “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.” She blinked, clearly still processing, “Wh… when? Why?”

“Your birthday,” Emma scrunched up her face, anticipating her reaction.

Seemingly regaining her grip on reality, CeCe jumped back into her usual self, spitting out questions a million mile a minute, “How was it? How many times? Who’s apartment? Is he a cuddler? Who was on top? I need details, Swan!”

“It was…” Emma mulled over that night, “it’s kinda been awkward ever since, you know with my tendency to ignore my problems.”

“At least you admit it.”

“About a week after we started texting back and forth,” she drifted off, reminiscing about the past few weeks, “Just some dumb things about the tv shows we watch or what happened that day or which colleagues we’d like to kill.”

“Tim?”

“Duh,” she smiled fondly.

CeCe smirked, “You like him.” Emma glanced at her, realising there’d be no point in protesting, “That’s why you’re so insistent on avoiding him. Emma Swan’s scared off her ass because she likes a boy!” she teased.

“Ok, I get,” Emma felt heat flood her cheeks.

CeCe chanted, “Scaredy cat, scaredy cat, don’t know what you’re looking at!”

“How old are you?”

“Seven.”

“Add twenty.”

CeCe sighed, “Emma, you can deny your feelings all you want. But you know what’s going to happen? One day he’s going to be sat at a bar, drinking that stupid rum of his, probably brooding over the fact that his hot neighbour is too busy letting her commitment issues stop her from having a relationship with him, and you know what’s going to happen?”

Pushing down guilt and shame, she asked, “No, what?”

“A woman is going to stroll on over and start flirting with him. Now, unlike in the past where I’ve seen him reject these women, this time he’s going to smirk, he’s going to buy her a drink, he’s going turn up the smoulder, he’s going to flirt back,” she paused, voice going soft, “Emma, sweetie he’s going to move on.”

“He’s been rejecting women? Since when?” Shock washed over her. She’d always assumed that his flirtatious personality meant he’d gone home with lots of women; so surely it must just have been since they hooked up, right?

“Since I met him,” CeCe stated plainly.

“But,” Emma began to protest, bewildered, “but I used to see him arrive late home all the time!”

“He was probably working; I’ve never seen him go home with anyone,” she gaped at her, baffled by her apparent ignorance. Supposedly satisfied, CeCe trotted back outside, leaving her to her thoughts.

_‘Well that’s proven to be dangerous, hasn’t it?’_

***

Setting down her hair dryer, Emma let the thoughts that had consumed her that day take back over. Shockingly, things with Killian hadn’t been too awkward, despite her catching him staring at her and the whole good cop scary cop thing with Rose and CeCe (where she got stuck with scary cop). Though the natural ease of their friendship returned, her thoughts were plagued by what CeCe said. She knew he would move on, and she tried to tell herself she was fine with that.

Yet the thought of him with another woman birthed a horrible burn of jealousy in her chest.

_Get it together, Swan_

Crawling into bed, Emma decided to be her typical self and push the problem off until tomorrow. Pulling up her covers, habit kicked in and she reached for her phone, thumb instantly going for her texts, and when she saw nothing, she knew she couldn’t put off the feeling of her heart plummeting until tomorrow.

“Fuck it.”

***

‘THUNK!’

Another dart hit the target and his tongue poked out in concentration, his arm pushed by frustration to release another.

Despite how much he’d enjoyed today, he couldn’t shake how right Rose had been: one day it would be too late.

Oh, how much easier this would be if she wasn’t so bloody stubborn with her walls - why must he be so eager of a challenge? He so longed to ask her out, but he was even more afraid of scaring her off and losing her completely.

Continuing to take his anger out on the dartboard, he ignored the creaking sounds of someone in the corridor and opening a door, odd as it was for Mr. Wilkies to be up at this quiet hour and even stranger for Martha not to be asleep, the early bird she was.

So it was certainly a shock when he heard the siren’s voice behind him:

“I’m here to ask you out.”

 

**Rose's outfit**

 

 

**Candy's outfit**

 

** **

**Emma's outfit**

** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter was a pain in the ass. I hope you guys enjoyed reading it more then I enjoyed writing it.  
> Also, if my plan doesn’t change, we’re about halfway through this story!


	15. Chapter 14

In spite of the ample opportunity to mock him, Emma was unable to even chuckle at the sight of Killian nearly falling flat on his face as the dart slipped out of his hand, completely missing the board. Her gut clenched as she waited for him to turn around so she could gauge his reaction.

“To dinner, or something…” he tilted his head, cheeks tinged pink, a slightly flustered look crossing his features.

Fully facing her, he asked, “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you out?”

“Should’ve known you’d be old fashioned,” she rolled her eyes. “Seriously, what are you; like three hundred?”

“And as you can see, I’ve retained my youthful glow,” he smirked, using his hand for extra flair.

_Stupid dramatic attractive idiot_

He moved closer to her, rocking back and forth on his feet, “I happily accept on one condition; you let me plan the evening.”

“I know how to plan a date!” she protested, catching too late the mischievous glint in his eye.

“You know how to chase down bail-jumping scum. I know how to plan an evening out,” he reasoned. “Besides, I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time - let me plan it?”

She sighed in defeat, feeling herself flush at his confession. “Well I don’t pillage and plunder on the first date, just so you know,” she felt her blush deepen as she picked up their pirate joke, hoping he could tell that she was sincere (whilst completely ignoring the fact that they’d already covered the _pillaging and plundering)._

His face moulded into one of seduction; similar to what she’d seen before, yet this time tinged with affection, “Well that’s because you haven’t been out with me yet.” His voice had dropped into the flirtatious tone she recognised from their makeout in the hall whilst she was jumping his bones, only this time with more control and far less alcohol, “Tomorrow? Say, twelve?”

Emma felt her face light up, “Sure, that works.”

He tossed her another smile, “See you then.”

They stood for a few more seconds, exchanging delicate smiles.

“Well, ‘night Killian.”

“G’night, love.”

As she closed the door to her apartment, she realised that was the first time he’d called her ‘love’ and she had no desire whatsoever to punch him.

***

“Bitch! Open up!” a boisterous voice yelled over the persistent rapping on her door.

Speedily wrapping a towel around her damp hair, she scurried to the door, “I’m coming Coccino! Calm down!” Pulling it open, she saw CeCe leaning on the doorframe, stunned when she saw the previously bubblegum-pink haired waitress was replaced with bright apple red locks.

“Seriously? It’s 9:30, how are _you_ even awake, let alone have gone and got your hair dyed?” she asked.

CeCe shrugged, “They could only fit me in early.”

“So are you letting us in, or...what?” another voice questioned from behind her. The voice stepped forward, revealing Rose, “Well? Can we come in?”

Stepping aside, Emma realised something, “The hell are you doing here?”

“Helping you get ready for your date,” Rose answered plainly. The two sauntered towards her bedroom, leaving Emma to wonder how the hell they knew. “Killian canceled in the library today,” Rose explained, seemingly reading her mind.

Emma thought about objecting, but deep down she knew it’d be in vain. At the sight of the two raiding her makeup table, she was hit with a horrible wave of nostalgia for something she never had: friends obsessing over her first date with a cute boy.

Friends and an actual, proper date - not something Emma Swan thought she’d ever have.

***

As Rose finished straightening her hair, CeCe threw open her wardrobe, heading straight for the dresses, throwing several on the floor, “Nothing he’s seen you chasing down perps in….but still sexy.”

“She doesn’t _need_ anything sexy; they’ve already slept together,” Rose protested, moving over to the wardrobe, leaning in to look around. “What she needs is to show a side of her suited for a relationship. Something sweet and romantic.”

“Guys.”

“Fair point. But she still needs to make him drool.”

“Guys.”

“Then she could wear bin bags that still smell!”

“You know what I mean! Make other men's heads turn as well.”

“Guys!”

Finally, the two looked at her, yet still remained half in the wardrobe. She sighed, “No, I’m not wearing anything I use to chase down perps in and I don’t really want to wear anything sexy...but I don’t think I own anything… ‘sweet’ or… ‘romantic’.”

“What about this?” Rose fell out of the wardrobe, holding up a soft pink dress that she’d forgotten even existed.

“Oh!” CeCe chirped from her position on the floor of her wardrobe, “she can wear these!” She held up matching t-strap heels.

Rose rapidly agreed, the two buzzing around to get matching makeup and jewellery, causing Emma to giggle at their antics.

***

After two and a half hours of prepping, Rose and CeCe deemed her ready, and they sat on the couch sharing a bag of crisps. Emma was perched anxiously on the chair, musing over several things: what Killian had planned, what they would talk about...would they have sex?

But one question plagued her more than any of the other...and it was hanging on her neck.

Brushing her ponytail out of the way, she removed the pendant and placed it on the coffee table, just as a knock rang on the door. In a way that _really_ made her think of what she missed as a teenager, Rose and CeCe squealed as she went to open the door.

Sharply, she inhaled as she took in Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome on her doorstep. Crisp, black pants; dress shoes; his signature black leather jacket; a black leather waistcoat (a _freaking_ waistcoat) and a navy shirt with the top few buttons undone (the man has a problem), allowing his necklaces to poke out.

His head rose, piercing her with those enchanting blue eyes made even more startling by the dark kohl that lined them. Her insides melted when he gave her a fond smile, that voice in the back of her mind telling her she had no idea what she was doing. “You look stunning, Swan,” he complimented, though she barely heard him.

“You...look…” she tried to string together her thoughts: _dashing...breathtaking...gorgeous._

“I know,” he grinned and she rolled her eyes, comfort appearing at the familiar territory. She stepped back to let him in and he revealed a deep red rose from behind his back, “The red rose: typically used to show romance, passion and desire but also displays admiration, devotion and respect for the person you are giving them to.”

“Whoa, where did that come from?” a muffled voice came from behind her, and Emma turned to see CeCe and Rose peering at them, doritos stuffed in their mouths.

Killian laughed, “I have no idea.”

Emma chuckled, “Wow, you really went all out.” She took the rose, going to put it in  vase when Rose came over and began insisting that she’d do it.

“Well, we better get going,” Emma wrung her hand together, nerves returning.

“Wait!” CeCe called, “Wait! I need to give the ‘hurt-her-and-I’ll-bury-you’ speech.”

“Let’s go,” Emma tried to usher him out.

Killian moved further into the apartment, “Spare yourself the trouble, Candy. If that happens I’ll hand you the knife.”

“Bye!”

“Make it the shovel!”

Killian put his hand on her back, that shit-eating grin that may be more of a kinda-absolutely-adorable grin now returning.

The door closed, and Emma licked her lip, feeling herself smile at his cheeky grin. “So, where are we going?”

“Patience, Swan.” His hand was still resting on her back, spreading warmth up her spine, “Shall we?”

***

The sight of the sea instantly calmed her, the sound of the water soothing her nerves. When they parked in the employees section, it clicked in her, “Wait, we’re going sailing? How the hell did you swing that?”

“Well, Swan, when you _volunteer_ to do the horrendous shifts,  everyone seems prepared to do favours for you to avoid the possibility of a switch,” he explained, leading her towards the boathouse.

Fifteen minutes of messing around with boats and a twenty minute conversation with Callum (who Emma prejudicially loathed) and Joseph (or Old Joey) they were out on the water. Emma leaned against the railing of the small boat, fascinated as Killian moved around with expertise.

“So you just care for the boats?” she asked, finding it hard to believe someone who seemed so at home on the water didn’t work on it.

“Aye,” he answered, wiping his hand, crouching to retrieve something, “It’s not what I want to do but…” he shrugged, “it’s the closest I’m going to get. They don’t exactly trust the man with one hand.” Straightening up, a basket dangled from his prosthetic, “Lunch? Joey’s wife made it for us.”

He chuckled at her swift grab of the basket, digging in it as she smelled grilled cheese and onion rings. “Shut up,” she told him, taking a bite, feeling her face burn.

“Don’t worry, love. I think it’s adorable,” he reached into the basket, getting a sandwich for himself.

They sat down, Emma tucking her legs in and Killian crossing his, arm supporting her back. Salty air overtook her senses as she chewed, her eyes trained on the horizon, “It’s beautiful isn’t it?”

“Aye,” he agreed.

“If you’re looking at me when I turn I’m going to punch you,” she threatened.

She felt his arm move as he raised them in mock surrender, “I only speak the truth.”

Slapping him gently in the chest, she stifled a laugh.

“I actually do find it to be quiet calming though,” he acknowledged. Serenity washed over her as she agreed.

A silence settled, an awkward feel to it. After a moment, Emma felt the need to apologise, “I’m sorry, despite bail jumpers I haven’t been on many dates. And they didn’t end well.”

_‘By not ending well you mean married with kids or storing body parts in their freezer. You really do have shit luck.’_

‘Well the married and kids thing may be true but he doesn’t remember. And I’ve raided his freezer before: no bodies.’

_‘Smartypants.’_

“Me either.” With his confession, Emma suddenly felt an abundance of her fears float away, “I mean, before I moved here the only times I had sex was to scr-”

“Scratch an itch,” she finished, wordlessly telling him that she was the same, although she figured he’d managed to deduce that on his own, given her walls.

He hummed, catching her attention, “So what about it, Swan? Honestly this time: have you ever been in love?”

Understanding that she couldn’t lie to him this time, she let herself get lost in his eyes when she replied, “Maybe...once.”

“Maybe?”

“First love, only love...don’t even know if it was love…” she explained. “I was sixteen, seventeen. I thought he loved me and judging by what he did I was completely wrong.”

He got two bottles of beer from the basket and handed one to her, “Teenage boy are stupid, love. Chances are he did but just messed it up.”

“He was older,” she said quickly, swallowing down the beer, briefly wishing it was something stronger - like rum. “So what about you?” she asked, desperate to change the subject, “Any broken hearts back in Maine? Any glimpses of memory?”

“One,” he rolled abandoned his jacket and rolled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo she had seen before but never truly noticed. “Milah. When I look at it I feel...heartbroken. Remorseful. Angry.”

“You think she broke your heart?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s more like....grief.”

He took another swig of beer, “You think she died? Did anyone know her?”

Again, he shook his head, “Never heard of her.” His gaze landed on the horizon, magnificent blue eyes brimming with melancholy.

“Sorry,” she squeaked.

He shrugged, “I just wish I knew…” His thumb twirled the ring resting on his index finger. “But that’s why I’m here,” he met her eyes, a reassuring smile gracing his features, “Start afresh.”

Returning the smile, she continued to eat her onion rings.

Following their meal, Killian had decided to show her the ropes of sailing. His complete passion for the subject reminded her of a night in The Tavern, when he was expressing his love for the sea. Boyish wonder lit up his face as he described what did what. Whilst he was in the middle of a sentence she asked, “Have you ever considered teaching?”

Taken aback at being interrupted, it took him a moment to answer, “Teaching? I can’t say that I have, love. Why?”

Jerking her shoulders, she answered, “You love sailing, you love talking about sailing- it just seems logical. Plus you have an accent so people will listen to you,” she joked.

His body shook with laughter, and _god_ it really was a sound the world needed to hear more often.

***

They spent all afternoon on the boat, slipping back into the way they used to be; only this time there was the acknowledgement that they both wanted more. When they finally docked, Emma thought they would return to their apartments, yet he surprised her again.

“Well, Swan, what do you think?” he asked as they followed a waiter to their table.

“I like that it’s not The Tavern,” she grinned. It was a humble Italian place, clearly used as a romantic setting, evident by the couples dotted around.

He rushed forwards to pull out her chair for her: _fucking gentleman_. Pushing her in he chuckled, “Don’t tell Candy.”

She laughed, truly feeling like a teenager on her first date as she opened her menu. Killian sat opposite her, jacket removed. He cleared his throat and glanced at the bar behind her, “Shall I order us some drinks?”

“Not tonight,” she sighed, regretting it immediately. But she was determined to make it through the night without any liquid courage, the beer from earlier already wearing off.

“Why, love?” He stared at her, eyes screaming a challenge, “You, erm, a bit worried you’ll find me even more irresistible after a few libations?” he teased, voice flirtatious, a sultry grin gracing his face.

“No.” He cocked a brow, making her blush, “Yes. I want to get through tonight without tearing each other’s clothes off. I would actually like to talk to you this next month.” His grin dropped, and she inhaled, carefully taking down another brick in her walls, “And I don’t just want to fall in the sack over and over until this burns out and we’re left with a ton of awkwardness.” She exhaled; who knew it could feel so good to vocalise your feeling?

He took a hold of her hand, his thumb caressing it, “Look, Swan: I agree. I want to take it slow this time, I want an actual relationship.” He sharply inhaled, and she realised he was still worried about scaring her off, about crossing one of her lines. Soothing his fears, she tightly grasped his hand, smiling reassuringly at him. “I can control myself, love. Drinks?”

“Fine,” she pointed to the menu, “Cuba Libre.”

_Seriously, with the shit-eating grin_. “I believe I’m rubbing off on you, Swan.”

“Ah, crap.”

Broken people, broken hearts...maybe they won’t come out of this with broken relationships.

***

Tiptoeing past 7A and 7D, Killian and Emma stopped in the gap between their two apartments, turning to face each other, both beaming manically. The rest of the date had gone smoothly; she had even suggested taking a walk after dinner, not quite ready for it to be over. Naturally, the idiot had given her his jacket when it had gotten chilly, and if she wasn’t so sure how much he loved it she would’ve stolen it that night.

A vision flashed across her mind of her stealing a lot of his clothes in the future.

“Well,” she nodded, “Not bad. Not bad at all.”

“Just not bad? I must be losing my touch,” he huffed in defeat, causing her to giggle.

Her hands landed on his shoulders, “Hey,” she trailed them down so one hand squeezed his prosthetic and the other intertwined with his. “I think you did ok.”

They stood for a moment, swaying slightly, exchanging teasing glances. She eyed his lips, feeling her body move closer to his, when she heard a crash and a swear come from behind her.

CeCe.

“You want to come in and have coffee with our nosey friends?”

He laughed, “Alas, I fear that even if we were alone, that _pillaging and plundering_ you mentioned…”

“Yeah.”

“I suppose I can try again next time,” his grin widened.

She cocked her head, “Next time? I don’t remember asking?”

“That’s cause it’s my turn.” The playfulness dissolved from his eyes, that goddamn sincerity returning, “Will you go out with me again?”

She didn’t answer, and instead gave into the pull, the spark that had been growing between them all day. Her eyelids closed as her nose slid against his. Their lips met and unlike the last two times they’d kissed in this hall it was slow, controlled. Arms pulled away from her hands as she felt the wrap around her back to hold her closer. She had no idea what her hands were doing, as his own was crawling up her back and into her hair, tangling through the ends. Lips separated but they did not, her eyes remaining closed as their foreheads rested on each others.

Finally they parted as she turned to hand him his jacket, “Ok,” she breathed, smile reappearing as she remember how to function. “Goodnight Killian.”

“Goodnight,” she saw his soft smile as she closed the door behind her.

Hearing the door click behind her, Emma let a wave a emotions crash over her.

Amazement. Fear. Joy. Anticipation. Attraction. Dread. Hope.

“What? No sex? How bad was it?”

Using the inner strength she did not know she possessed, Emma kept her face impassive, “Candice. Hope you enjoyed raiding my fridge.”

“Very much.” Patting the space on the couch next to her, she began to rant off questions, “So...whatcha do? Where’d ya go? Whatcha talk about? Why aren’t cha doin’ it?”

Refusing the invite to sit down, Emma crossed her arms, “Sailing. Italian Restaurant. Stuff and I didn’t want to. Satisfied?”

“Wait, you didn’t-”

“Go, CeCe.” Emma cut in. “What time did Rose leave?”

Making no move to stand, CeCe answered, “She went over to Killian’s ‘bout a half hour ago.”

She groaned, “What is it with you two and this whole…” Emma searched for the term, “divide and conquer thing?”

“Well, it worked last time, didn’t it?”

“Goodnight, CeCe,” she ignored her, heading towards her bedroom.

Despite her slight annoyance with her friends, Emma couldn’t find it in her to stay mad at them; the little orphan Emma in her screaming at her not to blow it with these friends.

‘Don’t blow this relationship,’ another voice said, ‘You deserve it.’ Emma didn’t recognise the voice, but she listened anyway.

Maybe a new perspective was what she needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is out soooo much later than I wanted! I’ve been on holiday and not the kind that involves sitting by the pool with tons of spare time.  
> Anyway, it took me forever but that deleted scene collection I promised is here! It’s called: ‘Treasure these Memories’  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I tweaked Emma’s past a little, just what we saw in ‘Firebird’.

‘Tentative’ was a good word to describe the first month of their relationship.

They got through the month with minimal arguments, but Emma knew the peace wouldn’t last - and she was goddamn petrified that when they had their first real fight it would be like a bomb: explosive and deadly.

She knew he was afraid of pushing her, of sending her running, yet he didn’t seem to realise that her subconscious had already let him take down those walls. Startlingly, a huge part of her was ok with this, no longer afraid; she even began to tell him stories of her past.

_“Ow. Ow. Owwwww,” Emma moaned, frantically trying and failing to unlock her jammed door and be rid of her heels._

_“You alright, love?” a concerned voice came from behind._

_“No,” she folded her arms, “I ended up chasing the guy in a circle of alleyways. I’m tired and I just-” she wedged her key in the door, using her whole body to try and force it open, “want...to take...off-”_

_Killian reached over and calmly unlocked it._

_“My shoes,” she sighed, throwing herself into her flat._

_“Don’t I get any gratitude for my dashing rescue?” he teased, strolling inside._

_She rolled her eyes, “Don’t push it,” yet she was smirking at him, not really having the energy to scold him._

_She threw her shoes across the room with a dramatic sigh, slouching onto the couch, laziness washing over her as her eyes drooped close._

_“You know love,” Killian sat next to her, hand reaching over to gentle caress her knee, “if you go change into something comfortable I’ll put on Big Bang Theory and give you a foot rub.”_

_Her eyes sprung open, “Foot rub?”_

_“Aye,” he chuckled at her sudden enthusiasm. “Go on then love.”_

_With a new vigor, she made towards her bedroom._

_***_

_Five minutes into one of the greatest foot rub’s ever (seriously, the guy may have one hand but he sure knows how to use it), the questions started._

_Oh, the questions._

_“So what did he do?”_

_“Nothing new,” she replied, “Just another cocky thief who underestimated me.”_

_“Rookie mistake,” he continued working his magic. “If you don’t mind me asking; how did you fall into bail bonds?”_

_Every muscle in her body tensed, and by the slowing of Killian’s movement, he noticed. “You don’t have to-”_

_“No,” she interrupted, “No. It’s ok. Just...don’t stop that foot rub.”_

_The smile he gave her was almost thankful, as he recommenced massaging her feet._

_With a sigh, Emma started her story, deciding that he didn’t need all the details, “The longest I ever spent anywhere was Tallahasse - I was looking for someone. After two years of jumping around, doing odd-jobs and...a bit of....stealing…” she paused and glanced at Killian, whose eyes were on her, face giving away nothing, “I still wasn’t ready to give up. One day I was stopped by a woman. She started listing off my crimes and I ran for it only to find my bug had been booted-”_

_“Is it just me or...is that your move, love?”_

_She chuckled, flattered that he’d paid such close attention, “Fan of my work, Jones? Yeah I picked up a few things from Cleo.” When Killian didn’t respond she carried on, “She took me back to a hotel promising to take me in the next morning. Whilst she was in the shower I picked the handcuffs, took some of her money and went to escape.”_

_“And you call me a pirate.”_

_“Are you gonna let me tell the story or not?”_

_“Go ahead.”_

_“Anyway, I was on my out when I saw Cleo’s laptop open with a website for courthouse records. I realised then what you specialise in as a bail bondsperson: finding people. I stayed and made a deal with her: she helps me find information on who I was looking for and I go quietly.”_

_“Question?” Killian asked, evidently ignoring her no-talking comment. She nodded, “Was this person perchance that ‘only love’ you were talking about?”_

_Emma nodded again, “I was young and hopeful. At that point I just didn’t want to believe that everyone would leave me...or maybe just to yell at him.”_

_“Hey,” he caught her attention, “I’m not going anywhere. Neither is Candy nor Rose.”_

_The corners of her lips tugged upwards; deep down, she already knew._

_“Continuing. We did a little digging and nothing came up. The last time anyone had heard from him was 2000. Naturally, I didn’t want to give up.”_

_“So stubbornness is a natural trait of yours?”_

_“If you’re gonna keep talking I’m not going to tell the story.”_

_“Being quiet now.”_

_“Thank you. Cleo and I argued for a bit and she pointed out that I should keep up my end of the bargain. Then she told me I shouldn’t do it for her: I should do it for myself. She kept commenting that I let my emotions control me too much. That I should pay the price for my crimes then start afresh. We went back to the hotel.” Emma paused, mind wandering away from her thief days and focusing on Killian’s hand. “That night I broke into the courthouse to see if there were any other records of his arrest...probably under a new name.”_

_Killian snorted._

_“What?” Emma asked._

_“I thought you didn’t want me talking, Swan.” He raised a brow, “Please, continue.”_

_Eyeing him suspiciously, Emma went on, “Cleo found me then the cops turned up and we both had to run. She punch through a window and I followed.” Emma inhaled, feeling tears brew as she remembered what happened next, “We were running down an alleyway when Cleo collapsed. The glass from the window had cut her. I wanted to stay and turn myself in to save her but she told me to go. I remember her last words: ‘You’re holding on too tight. Emma let go. Let go.’” Tears streaked Emma’s face. “I ran. She tried to help me and she died.”_

_Killian shifted to hold her in his arms, “Shhh, love, it’s not your fault. You did as she asked didn’t you?”_

_Emma shook her head, “I followed every bit of advice she gave me, to honour her memory. Without her I’d either be in jail or on the run. I owe her so much.” Killian kissed the top of her head, fingers running through her hair. “A year later I somewhat had my life sorted out, so I tried to repay her.” Shakily, Emma exhaled, trying to regain control of her breathing, “She had a daughter that she gave up. My first assignment as a bail bondsperson was to find her and give her what was left of Cleo.” Emma swallowed, “The joy on her face when she asked if Cleo was looking for her…” Killian held her more firmly. “She was so grateful to finally know where she came from.”_

_Wiping her eyes, Emma debated whether to share the next part of the story or not._

_“She worked in a clothes store; that’s where I found her. Cleo used to wear this leather jacket...she called it her armour, to help her protect herself. She told me I should find my own armour. In the shop I saw something...my own armour.”_

_Killian moved her so she was facing him, “Was this your infamous red leather jacket?”_

_“Yeah,” Emma sighed._

_After a few moments of silence Killian realised that was the end of the story. “Thank you for telling me, I know that couldn’t have been easy. I didn’t wish to upset you,” he apologised, kissing her hair._

_“Thank you for asking,” Emma said, truly meaning it. “Recently I’ve learnt that actually talking about your feelings is quite healthy.” He grinned in agreement, delicately wiping the remaining tears with the crook of his finger._

_She repositioned herself, cheekily asking, “So...what happened to that foot rub?”_

_“As you wish, princess.”_

_“Foot rub now, quote Princess Bride later.”_

No, fear wasn’t standing in the way anymore, right now anger was more likely to send her running. Anger because a huge part of her was ok with telling him her stories, however she could get next to nothing in return from him.

Guiltily, she let herself brew over this for a while. She knew it wasn’t fair to be mad at him over something he couldn’t control, but she also didn’t find it fair that she was the only one spilling her guts.

And yes, maybe that curiosity had something to do with it.

***

She managed to keep it bottled up for an impressive four days, and probably could’ve gone longer if he hadn’t accidently prompted her.

It was date night and they’d opted to go to The Tavern, immediately rushed to a table in sight of the bar (where Rose was stationed) by CeCe who had cheerily taken their orders. It was going smoothly until just after they’d finished their starters.

Killian had taken her hand in his (‘Don’t laugh, Swan, this is a sacrifice for me’) and was soothingly stroking her hand (yes, despite her laugh she loved it) when the bottle filled.

“What’s that, love?”

“Hmm?” Emma snapped into focus, pretending that she’d been paying attention instead of staring at his lips.

“On your hand,” he circled it with his thumb, and Emma felt her frustration rise. “Swan, is that-”

“It’s nothing…”

“Is that a burn mark?”

“I said it’s nothing, Jones!” she snapped.

He flinched back, surprise written across his face but it was his eyes that did it. He looked how he did the night she told him about Cleo: like he wanted to hold her and try to make it better and she hated him for that. She hated that he meant well. She didn’t _want_ him to feel the need to make it better. She didn’t need him to make it better.

He opened his mouth, probably to apologise when a ball of apple red hair came bouncing over.

“You’re done with these, right?”

Emma nodded, gulping down her wine, “Yeah, thanks CeCe.”

The waitress sensed the tension and left with the plates. As soon as she was out of earshot Killian started talking.

“I’m sorry, Emma. I didn’t wish to drag up a painful memory.”

She shook her head, “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Then wh-”

“Refill?” a petite brunette asked.

“Please, Rose,” Emma nodded.

“What’s wrong?” Killian questioned a soon as Rose left. “What’s so bad that you can’t tell me?”

And here comes the explosion: “Because you can’t tell me how you lost your hand!”

Bewilderment was painted on Killian’s face as he processed what she said, “Emma, I’m not sure I understand.” She gritted  her teeth, trying to choke down her annoyance. Clenching her eyelids shut, she scolded herself for lashing out. _It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault. It’s not his fault._

Observant as he was, Killian recognised that there was something else on her mind. “What’s _really_ bothering you, lass?”

Fisting her hand and biting back a groan, Emma replied, “I could tell you a lot of things about my past yet you can’t even tell me how you _lost a limb_!”

His eyes widened in realisation, “Emma, I’m sorry but there is nothing I can do-”

“I know,” Emma cut in sharply. “It’s just I’m here telling you everything whilst you have nothing...it just...it doesn’t seem fair.”

By now Killian was visibly frustrated, “What do you want me to do, Swan? Do you wan-”

“Main course! Killian, Emma,” CeCe lazily placed their dishes on the table, probably in the hopes of catching some of their argument.

“Cheers, Candy,” Killian brushed her off and she mercifully to the hint. “So what do you want? Do you want me to be stubborn about finding a way around this issue and avoid you for a month?”

“Oh, that is not fair-”

“Drinks!” Rose swooped in hastily and, unlike CeCe, disappeared almost instantly.

“You think it was fair to me, Swan?” Killian stared at her expectantly. “Well?”

Emma loathed that he was right; so far she had been pretty unfair to him. He’d had to wait for her at every moment, been overly cautious of her boundaries and never complained. Now here she was moaning about something completely irrational. She knew the grown up thing to do would be to let it go for now.

So obviously Emma stood up and left.

***

Killian watched her leave, groaning as soon as the door shut behind her, banging his head on the table. Gods he was stupid. Why, why, why did he say those things? Repetitively, he lightly knocked his head against the hard wooden table until he felt a dainty hand on his back.

“I don’t think a concussion is going to help.”

“You don’t know that. It might make Emma feel sorry for him.”

“Well I suppose it depends on what they were fighting about,” the two voices were now silent, and Killian finally raised his head.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” he reached for his beer, chugging it eagerly in an attempt to wash away the past twenty minutes.

“Come on, Jones!” Candy moaned.

Killian gazed pleadingly at them, “Do you mind if I stay with one of you for a few hours? I don’t wish to return home.”

“My shift’s about to end,” Rose patted him on the back. “Hang around the bar for fifteen minutes.  Candy, do your job for two seconds and take these plates back.”

Begrudgingly, Candy followed instructions, scooping up the full plates.”

Rose guided Killian to his spot at the bar, “Come on. Savour that beer, we’ll be out of here soon.”

***

Another episode of Friends drew to a close, and Emma fumbled for the remote, deciding to turn in for the night. Once the tv screen faded to black, Emma debated on getting up or not: she was already in her pajamas and had a blanket wrapped around, did she really need to move?

The question was answered when a knock came at the door, dragging Emma off her butt to answer it. What was on the other side didn’t really surprise her: “Killian, what the he-”

“I had a brother,” he was leaning against the doorframe, flask in hand, shirt untucked and hair disheveled, like he had been running his hand through it.

Emma stepped back, startled by his confession. He continued before she could say anything, “At least I’m quite certain I did. I don’t remember much, just that he always looked out for me. That he was my role model and I felt like I didn’t deserve him.”

_Jesus_ he looked so lost. His eyes were swimming with guilt and longing and _shit_ it hurt her. She almost pulled him in when he carried on, “I know…” he choked, tears brewing, “I _know_ my father abandoned me.” He sniffed, glaring at the ceiling. “I remember him soothing me to sleep when I was scared of the dark,” his smile at the memory was both fond and bitter; he looked both a youthful boy and a man who had seen too much. “I know I was so, so angry at him. I know he hurt me.”

Through her own tears both left over from earlier and new from seeing Killian in pain, she finally go a word in, “Why are you-”

“Let me finish,” he interrupted, once again, and she remembered he could be just as stubborn and insistent as she, “Liam, I think that was my brother’s name. In...school, I think, he’d help me when I was struggling.”

Killian groaned, “Bloody hell, I’m not making much sense am I?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Emma declared.

At last, his gaze snapped to her’s, blue eyes shimmering. The very tips of his mouth began to tug upwards as he went on, “Besides them most of my memories about him and my father surround the water. That’s why I feel so close to it. It’s all I have left of my family.”

His eyes returned to the position they were in when she first opened the door - the floor. As his head tilted down with a sigh, he indicated that he had finished.

“Killian?” Emma said softly.

“Aye?” he didn’t look up.

With a shaky exhale, she asked, “Are you drunk?”

The grin on his face was definitely sarcastic, “Nothing besides that last beer and this flask. I’ve been at Rose’s and she was out of anything good.”

He looked so _broken_ and it _killed_ her inside. This man - this strong, beautiful, polite, sensitive, _amazing_ survivor - has just poured his heart out to _her_ because of a little spat. She knew in that moment she would never deserve him, but she be damned if he didn’t at least try.

Carefully, she removed the flask from his hand and replaced it with her own, not daring to look at him as she gently guided him inside. She sat them down, forcing herself to look at him, settling her inner dispute with a deep sigh.

“Foster mother.”

He turned curiously to look at her, “Pardon?”

“This burn mark,” Emma clarified, knowing there was no turning back. “One of my foster mothers was drunk one evening and cranky. She was venting at me and accidently used me to put out her cigarette,” subconsciously, Emma put her left hand in her right, drawing circles around the mark. “She wasn’t the worst,” Emma admitted, “It was an accident and she after she realised that I wasn’t just crying for the sake of it she called my social worker to take me to the ER and I never saw her again. I was seven.”

Her carpet had never been so interesting.

“Swan, I-”

“I don’t need your pity,” she snapped, reflexively turning to glare at him. However, she was softened by the admiration on his face, causing her to bit her lip.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” he looked at her like she hung the moon, and she shyly returned the smile.

He opened his arms and she slide easily into them. He tucked her into his side and she assisted him by snuggling into his chest when his chin landed on her head. He had been drawing idle circles on her arm for  ten minutes when she pounced, gripping his shirt with his hands, pulling a stunned Killian to her lips. He eagerly reciprocated, left arm wrapped tightly around her lower back as she felt his hand crawl up her spine and into her hair. Light moans and gasps filled the air - though Emma wasn’t sure whose was whose - causing desire to flood her system. With a greedy inhale, she swung her body so she was straddling his lap, raising a deep groan from him.

“Swan,” he moaned between kisses. Her fingers began to fumble with his shirt buttons. Whilst he kept gasping her name, Emma’s lips moved to his stubbled jaw, down his neck to attack his collar bone. After she had almost definitely left a mark, Killian carefully pushed her away, calling out, “Swan, stop.”

“What is it?” the question came out in an aggravated gasp.

“Swan, Emma, love…” his voice was strained, and she could tell he was turned on as he attempted to get out his thoughts, “I thought…I thought we were taking things slow.”

Emma sat back so she could look him in the eyes, “It’s been a month, Killian. I know by…” Emma choked, “I care too…” She hung her head, resting it on the same spot she’d just been assaulting, “This relationship is too good, works too well, for it to just be about sex at this point.” Her head moved so her forehead was pressed against his, “I’m not afraid.”

His eyes searched her, face splitting into a sultry smirk. “Well then,” effortlessly, he stood up with her in his arms as she instinctively wrapped her legs around him “If that’s so I don’t think we should waste any more time.”

Giggling, she gripped him as he carried her to the bedroom.

Afterwards, they lay, tired and happy, on her bed. Emma had never figured herself for a cuddler before, but Killian was just so damn warm, and his chest was insanely comfortable.

There was a short silence until Killian tentatively said, “You said she wasn’t the worst…”

“Yeah, I am going to need a lot of hot chocolate for them,” she shot down the idea of sharing those stories now. Today had been emotionally draining enough already, but she wasn’t quite ready for it to end, “But I can give you an overview of my time in the system, if you’d like?”

“I’d love nothing more,” he replied with a yawn.

“You sure?” she asked teasingly. “Because if you’re tired you may want to wait until next time.”

“I’ve got all night, love,” he nuzzled into her hair, “I’m not going anywhere.”

She was starting to believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yay! Back from holiday and over jet lag! Whoop!
> 
> Next chapter; a ton of Candy and Rose! (These two still need a name…)
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	17. Chapter 16

"Remind me why we thought a double date was a good idea again?” Killian pouted as they made their way to Candy’s apartment. He’d been very against the idea of going out with Candy and her girlfriend, firmly on team Rose, but somehow Emma had convinced him.

“Because,” they made it to Candy’s floor, “It will make CeCe happy. And no matter how stupid she is, CeCe is our friend.”

Stepping behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and whispered in her ear, “ _Or_ we could go back to ours and put that new Netflix subscription of yours to good use.”

She snorted, “Worst invite to Netflix and Chill ever.”

“Doesn’t it matter? Gods know we won’t even get to picking a movie,” he nibbled on her ear, satisfied when he felt her sharp intake of breath.

He wasn’t as glad when she slapped his chest, “Behave.”

“Yes, princess,” he nodded his head. He’d declared that it was only fair that if he was a pirate she was his princess.

(“Please, I’m _far_ more badass than Buttercup.”

“Aye, you’re also more beautiful.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re cute when you blush.”)

Emma went to the door, raising her fist to knock, but she froze.

“What is it, love?”

“Sh!”

Killian moved closer and heard two clearly angry voices fading in and out.

“How dare you…that!...trust me?”

“Well, is it true?”

“Of course not!”

“Sure, just like you never…”

“I didn’t! Ask her yourself!”

“Maybe I will! But how do I know she won’t lie to protect your sorry ass!”

“Don’t you DARE … my friends…”

There was a silence, and Emma once again raised her hand, only to be interrupted by a gentle sound, almost a sob, and Killian couldn’t quite make it out. It was followed by another silence and footsteps growing closer.

“I figured.”

As the footsteps grew closer, Killian felt Emma tug on his arm, indicating that they should go to the end of the corridor and act like they weren’t listening in on another couple’s fight.

“So I don’t really know what Tim’s talking about,” Emma said loudly, “I mean, if that case never existed in the first place how could he bring him in?”

“He couldn’t,” Killian played along.

“Exactly! He just doesn’t like the fact I get all the dangerous guys and he gets the-”

A tearful Michelle was looking at them longingly. She stormed past them, hissing, “Good luck.”

The second she was out of sight, he and Emma made a beeline for the open door.

“CeCe?” a concerned Emma asked.

“Yep!” A bold red blob greeted them. Candy’s face was blotchy with tears, the whole effect was made worse by her red hair. To put it kindly her head had transformed into a strawberry.

Emma grabbed her and pulled her into a fierce hug, which Candy limply reciprocated.

“She didn’t trust me! She accused me of having something with you and cheating on her with…” she pulled back, wiping her nose on her sleeve.

Gently, Killian walked up to her, settling his hands on her arms, “Candy, don’t listen to her. If she doesn’t trust you then you don’t deserve someone like her. You deserve someone who trusts and respects you. So what if you had a thing with Emma or not? The past is the past. And since I know you didn’t-”

He glanced at Emma for confirmation who nodded.

“Since you didn’t that means she saw something that wasn’t there just to create trouble. There’s a difference between paranoid and distrustful.”

Heartwrenching sobs wracked her body and she fell into him, arms clasped around herself. Killian’ held her, soothingly rubbing her back. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emma bustle around the kitchen.

“Jones?” a groan came from his chest.

“Coccino?”

“I still hate you.”

He bit back a chuckle, “Good.”

“Don’t stop hugging me though. This is a hate hug. A hug of hate. Hateful hugs...that’s all I got. Can someone get me ice cream?”

On cue, Emma popped up next to her, holding a tub of ice cream and a bottle of wine.

“Killian, I need you to listen very carefully,” Emma whispered as she set Candy down on the sofa.

“All ears, love.”

“Sprinkles: at least five kinds. Sauces: chocolate at least then get two more of your choice. FYI she favours butterscotch,” she instructed.

“Aye,” he headed for the door. “Do you want those little biscuit/wafer things also?”

“Emma, sweetie, don’t ever let him go,” Candy mumbled.

He smirked at her, eyebrows forming an expression that said: ‘see? Even Candy thinks I’m a keeper’.

Whilst really he was praying that she would follow their friend’s advice.

***

“What are you doing?”

Rose jumped, pen flying out of her hands. “Great,” she growled, “just…” her mouth disappeared into a frustrated line.

Killian bit back a smirk as Rose was trying not to yell at Emma, “I'll get it.”

“Cheers,” Rose sighed, regaining control of herself.

“So what _is_ this?” Emma inquired, gesturing to the map.

“This, my dear American, is the British Isles,” she waved her hands dramatically, “Can you label them?”

Even from his spot on the other half of the pub, Killian could tell Emma wasn't amused.

“Killian’s British and _he_ couldn't name them.”

“He doesn't remember his education,” Rose said defensively. “No, before it gets busy I try and get some work done. I’d nowt to do today so I decided to work on this-” she waved her hands over the map, “project thingy instead.”

“So what _is_ this ‘project thingy’?” Killian strolled over, leaning on the bar.

Rose pointed at him, “Your stupid accent.”

“What's wrong with his accent?”

“Aye, what's wrong with my accent?”

She rolled her eyes, “So now you two are together you're going to team up on everything?”

Emma snorted, “No.”

“Anywho, there's nothing wrong with your accent, I just can't figure out where it's from!” She rubbed her temples, “I mean, there are about fifty hundred accents in Britain…” she sighed, “I guess I just needed... I don't know…” She pushed a piece of hair away from her eyes.

“You've talked to your father recently, haven't you?” Killian raised a brow.

“Last night,” she folded the map and moved it aside. “You won't believe how much money he wants to give me.”

“Let me guess,” Emma smiled sympathetically, “only if you go back to England?”

Her expression said everything as tears glossed her eyes, “He gave me the whole ‘you'll never make it on your own’ speech with extra ‘there’s no way in hell you’re capable of this’.”

“That sucks. I'm sorry.”

She shook her head, “It's fine.” She heaved a sigh, “So how's Candy? I haven't seen her in a few days.”

“Cut up over the breakup,” Emma replied, “Though last night I convinced her that if she stops wasting her vacation days, we'll go to Disney World later this year.”

“Well that should cheer her up at least.”

“Yeah.”

As if on cue, the bold red hair bounced through the door, perfect makeup, fabulous nails, towering heels. However, she was missing the life behind the colour; the flicker of fun in her eye and mischievous grin behind the makeup; the big voice behind the small stature.

“Well look who's alive!” Emma quipped, evidently going for the wake-the-beast approach.

“Hi. Got to change,” she shuffled to the back door.

Rose grimaced, “She looks rough.”

“Well, it turns out Michelle wasn't very trusting,” Emma explained.

“Poor lass.”

Their conversation was cut off by the reappearance of Candy. Where there was supposed to be her chatter there was silence, and as much as she could give him a headache, Killian missed the sound.

“So Candy,” a nervous Rose said, “how are you?”

“Fine.”

“CeCe,” Emma began carefully, “you can talk to us, all of us. We're your friends.”

“Yeah, I know,” she glided around behind the bar, not even glancing at them, “or else you wouldn't be here. We're not open yet.”

Emma’s face dropped and she flinched back, clearly stung by Candy’s words. Killian opened his mouth to scold her when Rose glared at her, “Oi! Look at us!”

With an eye roll, she turned, an agitated look in her eye, “What?”

“I know breakups suck - believe me - but that's no excuse to be rude.”

“Sorry Rosemary, just stating the facts.”

Three flabbergasted faces gawked at Candy.

“CeC-”

“ _Candice_ , stop being a bitch for five minutes. You're not mad at me you're mad at Michelle,” Rose growled, “so act like it.”

“Well I don't know, maybe I do have a problem with you.”

“Then tell me instead of being snippy.”

“Maybe I don't want to talk to you.”

“Well then you’re just being difficult aren’t ya?”

Candy was silent for a moment, probably thinking how she could go forward with the argument without revealing why she was upset.

“If that’s what you think, then we don’t have to be friends, ok? We can just be co-workers. We don’t have to talk, you don’t have to even look at me, cause I sure as hell don’t want to look at you!” Not giving anyone time to protest, Candy stormed off to the back, leaving a hurt Emma and a confused Rose. Killian himself was very confused: Emma had told him that Candy was doing better, even if she still wasn’t her usual perky self, she was treating Emma the same.

What had gotten into her?

***

_Five more seconds_

What the fuck was wrong with her?

_Four more seconds_

Where had that come from?

_Three more seconds_

Why was she upset?

_Two_

Why did she flip out at Rose?

_One…_

Banging her hand on the counter, Emma hauled herself off the barstool and followed CeCe, stomping in her heels. Whether Killian or Rose tried to follow her or not remained a mystery to her, all her focus on getting some answers.

“Candice Lauretta Coccino what the hell was that?”

When she faced her, Candy appeared almost weary, as if she wasn’t the one who just picked a fight, “Seriously? Middle name?”

“Quit looking sorry for yourself and explain!” she demanded, her mindset now similar to her working one.

“I don’t want to talk to her!” she exclaimed, “Ok?”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” Emma glared, “Why?”

“I just… I’m just…” she stumbled over her words. Emma found she had a lot in common with CeCe (that’s how they became friends): they could sniff a lie a mile away yet; they preferred to be alone; whiskey was their drink of choice (though Emma was shifting towards rum); and they couldn’t lie to their loved ones for toffee (though Emma didn’t have loved ones at the time). That was the problem here; she was so brutally honest ( ** _brutal_** ly honest) that in return she was a terrible liar.

What, Candice?”she folded her arms.

“You know what?” An indignant grin lit up her face, “I don’t want to explain myself to you; I don’t have to explain myself to you...” She turned her back on her and began to walk away.

So she was less aggressive with her than Rose.

“CeCe wait.”

She stopped, “So we’re back to CeCe now?”

“Don’t push Rose away just because you feel like she ruined your relationship.”

“What?” she snorted, “I don’t feel like that. It’s not like Michelle accused me of cheating on her with her.”

Bingo. Reeling in her triumph, she continued, “Well actually I was just going to say it’s natural to blame someone but-”

“Oh,” she flushed to nearly the colour of her hair, tilting her head away.

“CeCe, you may think it’s her fault and it may well be; but don’t lock her out: you may regret it one day.”

She folded her arms, “That sounds like a tale from experience. Care to share?”

“No, because you are going to go out there,” she seized her arm, “and be _civil_.”

***

She was _supposed_ to be picking out a film for when Killian got back from work, and to be fair she had, but the second she had selected The Breakfast Club her thoughts had wandered elsewhere. That had led her to her current position on her living room floor. She had been rummaging through all her things, searching for the box and when she'd finally found it, all she could do was stare.

_‘Do you really want to open this can of worms?’_

Knocking snapped her back to reality, and when she expected to see a closed door she saw Killian casually leant against the doorframe, prosthetic tapping on the wood.

“Hello, love” He moved inside, his handsome face shifting into a concerned expression as he studied her. She tried a smile, but even she knew it was too tight, too brief.

He tilted his head, “You seemed vexed…”

Emma licked her lips and folded her arms, snuggling into her pajamas. She wasn't really in the mood for sharing.

“Like you could use a drink.” There was the sound of swirling liquid by her ear, and when she looked up his flask was hung by her face.

She reached for it. Usually she would reply with something along the lines of: ‘drinking on the job Jones? You really are a pirate’ but despite her reluctance to talk, she was even less eager to ignore the problem.

Look at her, being all adult.

“That's putting it lightly,” gulping down a hearty swig, she tried to wash away the memories the box brung.

“What’s that?” he nodded to the box, and with the rum flooding her veins, she had become a little more eager to share.

She handed him the flask, “What’s left of my childhood.”

Gulping, she forced herself not to look away from him. After this unspoken invitation, his face turned pensive, and he asked, “May I have the honour?”

‘Come on, Emma. Just take down that wall. Nice and gently,’ she told herself. She could trust him. She could trust him.

She shifted over, patting the floor beside her and reaching for the first thing: her little box of treasures. She eyed the piece of silver sitting on the coffee table, making a mental note to add it to the collection later.

For a moment she weighed the box in her hand, letting herself try to recall exactly what was in there. Killian sensed her hesitation (although he seemed to think it was at letting him see and not actually wanting to reopen the box) and searched for reassurance, “Are you ok?”

“I think so,” she sighed, handing him the box, slightly impressed at how steady her voice was.

Unexpectedly, he waited a moment before opening the box, keeping his eyes on her in a silent ‘Are you sure?’ When she made no protest he laid it down on the floor, effortlessly opening it with one hand.

She had told herself that she wouldn’t look at him whilst he took a journey into her past, but the little sound of joy he made snapped her attention to him and his insanely large smile.

An _honour_ he called it.

He held up her old glasses, his boyish grin tugging her lips into a fond smile. “So you didn’t always wear contacts?” he commented.

“I actually did sometimes in my teens when I was with a more generous foster home. Other than that it was these.”

He smirked, “I’ll wager they make you look cute.”

“And you’re never finding out.”

He chuckled and continued his search.

He pulled out an old mood ring and twirled it between his fingers for a moment, his affectionate smile still there. She heard him dig around the box, the clutter and rattling of beads obvious. Glancing up again when he stopped, she saw him holding up a polaroid photo.

“That’s the first love I’ve mentioned,” she answered his unasked question, a part of her knowing he’d never ask, but she wanted to tell him anyway. “His name was Neal.”

She felt tears brewing as memories of him came up, and she remembered her earlier note to herself. Twisting around, she grasped the pendant and held it above the box, taking a last glimpse.

“What’s that?” he inquired.

“He gave it me,” she explained. “After...we broke up, I wore it as a reminder to never trust anyone again.” Her gaze shifted to him, “I don’t need it anymore.”

She dropped it.

His small smile was half proud, half flustered as he closed the lid and she returned to the big white box, pulling out her baby blanket. “All I have from my parents,” she clutched it closer, “A blanket and a name. Y’know, the kind of thought you put into someone you abandon on the side of the road.” She’d told him the story already, yet she tossed him the newspaper article all the same. He barely glanced at it, face once again concerned for her, and dammit if it didn’t make her melt.

There were a few bits and bobs left in the box, but her eyes landed on the thing she had gone in search for.

“Couch,” she demanded, readying her tv.

Taking a deep breath, she sat down next to him. “I haven’t watched this since I recorded it but some things happened today, made me think about the past,” she rambled, thumbing the ‘play’ button on the remote.

“Reflective today, are we?” He intertwined his fingers with hers, his voice dropping to nothing more than a whisper, “Hey, show me.” She turned to him, encouragement written on his face, “I’d love to know more about your beginnings.”

And it’s that - the overwhelming, heartwarming sensation that gives her - that convinced her to press play more than anything else. So, with a smile, she did.

Her teenage face filled the screen, and Lily’s quickly joined in. God, she looked so carefree there, _happy_. It just made what happened afterwards sting all the more.

As the younger version of herself continued to pull faces she heard Killian’s little exhale as he beamed, and her vision blurred. “Who’s that lass?” His voice was still soft and gentle, and even in the quiet of her apartment she barely heard him.

“Just an old friend,” she choked.

Her arm was heaved up and around and a weight appeared on her shoulders. Flashing him a grateful smile, she nestled into his stubbled chin, feeling so damn _comfortable_. She closed her eyes, letting herself relax in his arms as the giggles of teenage Emma continued.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what exactly is it about this that…”

“Got me all reminiscent?”

“Something like that.”

Resting her chin on his leathered shoulder, she told him without hesitation, “I blamed her for something - several things - and it _was_ her fault but…” she clenched her eyes shut, feeling tears begin to spill, “My first friend and I pushed her away. Until CeCe I wasn’t very good at making friends, and even then she did most of the work.”

“You’re worried Candy is pushing Rose away?” His hand moved up her shoulder, across her collarbone and back. At some point he must have paused the video to listen to her because the room had grown silent.

She shrugged, “When I talked to her...it just brought up the regret I had over locking her out. Sure, she wasn’t the most well-behaved person on the planet, but…” Tears were flowing freely now, “She was the first person who really cared, in her own way.”

“Oh, darling,” he held her closer. Thankfully, she made no noise as she cried, just noiseless tears. She wasn’t sure how much time passed until she stopped crying, and even more unsure about how much time passed from then until she fell asleep. All she knew for certain was that she woke up in the middle of the night needing to pee, to find herself in her bed snuggled up to her boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:This chapter would've been up sooner if my laptop wasn't a piece of shit. First world problems...amirite?  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	18. Chapter 17

There was something so magnificently relaxing about the library. It was almost as if the building itself existed outside the bustling city, in a world of total rest and calm. Dust floated around in a gentle descent, only visible where the light from the open blinds broke the dull colours of the walls in a hue of whatever stage the sun was at in the day. The light wasn’t the only colour however, no. Hundreds upon hundreds of colours lined the walls upon the spines of books, each bursting with life and stories, factual or fiction. It was an intriguing thought, that a world so quiet could be bursting with such adventure - something admirable about library’s. Yet that still silence remained, only disturbed by the turning of a page or the shift of a person: the picturesque serenity.

That is until Killian let out a monster yawn.

“Bloody hell, that was a big ‘un,” Rose glanced at him, “You ok? Did you get much sleep last night?”

“I’ve been having difficulties sleeping as of late,” he shook his head, “I’m sure it’s nothing. Just a few bad dreams. I’ve had worse.”

“What about?

He yawned, trust Rose to make it into an entire inquisition.

He shrugged, “Don’t remember.”

“Huh.”

He finally looked up, raising a brow, “What?”

She jerked her head, “I thought Emma would’ve mentioned being kept up at night.”

“The woman sleeps like the dead when she wants to,” Killian supplied. “She doesn’t know.”

“How’s that going, by the way? You two?”

Automatically he grinned at the thought of Emma and he. “Good. Really good. I think she’s finally comfortable opening up to me about her feelings,” he particularly remembered a few days ago when she let him look through her childhood memories.

“That’s great, I’m happy for you,” the strained smile she gave told a different story.

“Hey,” her eyes met his and he could plainly see the sorrow written there, “you alright?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I-” she stopped when she saw the look on his face. “Not really,” she confessed.

“Let me guess,” he lent forward, “Is this about the other night? With Candy?”

Leaning back in retaliation, she opened and closed her mouth a few times before coyly replying, “Maybe?”

A smile tugged on his lips at her behaviour, “Why you asking me? I don’t know what’s troubling you.”

“Yeah, except you hit the nail on the head,” she folded her arms and rest her head in them, assumingly to muffle the long groan. Resting her chin on her arms, she appeared 100% the shy naive bookworm the world saw her to be, instead of the inquisitive, determined, powerful woman he knew her as. “I don’t know what to do. I clearly did something to piss her off. And obviously I still have feelings for her but she’s just broken up with her girlfriend and…” She groaned again, “Why is adulting hard?”

“To be fair, I don’t think she was angry at _you_ per say. I think it was more directed towards Michelle yet she just took it out on you.”

Nervously, the corners of her lips pulled upwards, “Really?”

“Aye, I do,” he encouraged her with a broad grin.

She bit her lip and pulled away from his eyes.

“Rose, are you sure there’s nothing more to this than just Candy’s behaviour towards you?”

She began dusting nonexistent dirt off her skirt, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, that if all that was stopping you was Michelle and Candy’s behaviour than why didn’t you ask her out before Michelle?” The question had been plaguing him for a while and now seemed like the perfect time to ask, “And don’t tell me you were afraid of rejection. The Rose I know goes after what she wants, or you wouldn’t be here now.”

Faint blush rose on her cheeks at the compliment but she merely said, “Killian, we all have our pasts, we all have our demons...I still don’t think I’ve fully let them go.”

“Wounds made when we’re young tend to linger,” his memories were proof of that.

She gave him a half smile, “Yeah, well I wasn’t that young.”

“Do you think you’ll ever be ready to tell us what happened to you?” he questioned, genuinely concerned for his friend.

Hope sparked in her eyes, “I’m getting there.”

***

To say work was boring without her friends was an understatement.

Not for the first time, Rose wished that they'd put barstool behind the bar for when things were particularly dull. It was just herself and a few people on waiter duty, and the quiet atmosphere reminded her of what initially drew her there.

The historical theme, of course, was a major aspect; She'd studied history at college (and had shared countless discussions  with Killian over historical accuracy) so that naturally drew her in. But it was more than that. It was the energy that came from the quick pace of the job, keeping her constantly on her toes, making her alert and ready to pounce into action. It was the intrigue of listening to a new story every night from a different patron, all there for different reasons; happy, sad or otherwise.  It was the smell of beer and pub food that reminded her of going out with her family when she was younger, her father eyeing the football game, her mother rolling her eyes and enthusiastically chattering with the waitress or barmaid. It was the low lighting trying to replicate candlelight gave the place an almost romantic atmosphere - despite the clutter of drunks that'd gather later in the evening (ok maybe it _was_ kinda like a proper tavern) - which, regardless of the countless fantasy and adventure books she read, she was really a sucker for (and she'd deny it to her grave).

So to sum: it was a place she liked a _lot_.

Her revive was broken by a dolled-up Emma, dread written on her face as she plopped herself on a barstool.

“Rum or whiskey?”

“Whiskey...no rum...no, wait…” she squinted, “umm...just...a shot. Anything really.”

“Killian working?” she got the shot glass.

“ _I’m_ working. _He’s_ working. _You’re_ working. We’re all working but at least I can drink on the job, eh?” Rose handed her the glass and she downed it enthusiastically. “Urgh, just water for now. I’ll need to be sober for this dick.”

She chuckled and got her a glass, “Actually, I think Candy drinks on the job all the time.”

Emma grinned, “Just see how much she’s talking. Alcohol somehow makes her even chattier and bitchier.” She sipped the water, “Where is she anyway?”

“Flu,” Rose answered shortly.

“Ah.”

A few moments of silence passed as Rose worked up the courage to ask what had been on her mind for a few days. “Emma, can I ask you something?”

“Ok,” Emma, sensing it was a serious conversation, lent forward and looked her in the eye, “What’s up?”

“You’ve been..heartbroken before, right?”

The woman stiffened, and Rose knew her suspicions had been confirmed, “In what way? Because I’m sure I’ve got them all.”

“Let’s start with romantically.”

She sighed, “You know, I think I’ll take a rum.” Swiftly, Rose made her a rum and watched her chug it. When she’d finished she set it down with a clink and began talking, “Yeah. Once. Why? Is this about CeCe?” Sympathy lit up her face, “because she’s just being a bitch right now. Give her some time and you’ll be fine.”

“Actually this is about me,” she looked her in the eye and saw someone rather like herself: high walls with a fear of being hurt, but slowly learning to bring them down. “How do you..how did you…” Emma was patient, waiting for her to get the sentence out, “It made you guarded, didn’t it?”

“Stating the obvious, but yeah,” she nodded,” It did and it still does a little.”

“Well you’ve began to let Killian in, haven’t you?” She nodded again, “How?”

Emma jerked her shoulders, “I don’t really know. I supposed he kinda sneaked up on me.”

“Yeah but,” she shifted, trying to focus on getting a sentence out and not breaking down, “How did you make the _conscious_ decision to let him in? How did you decide he was worth putting your past aside for your future?”

“Getting a little philosophical now, Rose,” Emma grinned. “I guess...as much as my armour protected me it also hurt me. I was tired of doing that to myself. I was denying myself of something I knew could make me...happy, even if it did have the power to hurt me.”

“Huh,” Rose mulled over her words as she turned away.

“And hey,” Emma grasped her wrist, halting her. “Despite what she’s saying, CeCe really does like you.”

“Yeah, last week she was practically hugging me,” she said dryly, still unconvinced.

Emma looked thoughtful for a second, then began to speak again, “Look, don’t tell her I told you this, but...CeCe has always felt like…” she licked her lip, “a failure.”

Her eyebrows shot up and she nearly tripped in surprise, “Candice? The woman who acts like she owns the world? A failure.”

“When her mother fell pregnant with her, her father left because he couldn’t handle a second child, claiming he’d only asked for her older brother. He ran back to Italy - you know she’s half Italian, right?”

Rose shook her head, “No, I didn’t.”

“Well, she is, and her mother gave her his last name in hopes that he’d come back for them. She-” Emma paused, contemplating whether or not to continue. Honestly, she wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. “She always blamed CeCe for him leaving.”

“The only contact she ever had with him was through her grandmother. Apparently they never saw her but she gave her and her brother present for birthdays and christmas. She’d always send CeCe family recipies, saying someone should carry on the family tradition.”

“That’s how she got into cooking,” Rose realised. “Wow, all she had of her father.”

“It’s more than some,” she interjected bitterly. Shaking herself, she continued, “Anyway, she and her mother were proud when she got into culinary school, so as you can imagine, neither were pleased about her dropping out.”

Rose winced, realising how this story was going to end.

“Nowadays, all she sees is her brother, and even then it’s barely even once a year,” Emma licked her lips, straightening up, “Family black sheep, then bombs on her first adult relationship.”

“I can see why she might be pissy,” Rose agreed. “Still that do-”

“Emma?” A tall guy tapped Emma on the shoulder, blonde hair cut at his chin with a Shaggy Rogers style goatee.

“Max!” Emma greeted him enthusiastically, slipping into character, “Hey!”

“Sorry for being late I had...work issues.”

Rose bit back  strong laugh; whatever Emma was bringing him in for, it appeared he was doing it before his date with the hot blonde from the internet.

What a lovely little coincidence.

“Oh, no problem!” Emma flipped her hair, batting her eyelashes, “I was just talking to the lovely barmaid.” Emma turned to her, eyes holding a warning, “I hope that helped. Please keep it to yourself.”

“No problem, ma’am,” Rose gave a polite smile to Max and got back to work, trying to clear her mind.

She was going to need her anger for later.

***

“Gross,” Candy complained to no one as she blew her nose again. It was just her luck that she’d be sick almost instantly after a breakup.

Screwing up the tissue into a ball, she tossed it towards her bin, not really caring if it went in or not: it wasn’t like she lived in a palace.

If she lived in a palace it would probably still be a pigsty.

She adjusted the newly wet flannel on her forehead, trying to regain her comfortable position when an angry sound came from her living room. What was it? Did something fall? Was someone in her apartment?

It came again: turned out it was just the door.

Groaning, she tottered to the door, swinging it open to reveal an angry looking Rose.

“All right Candice, I know you feel like shit but you can _not_ take it out on me!”

She had made her way into her apartment, and wearily, she asked, “What?”

“I get it: you’ve had a bad breakup and you have a crappy past. Well welcome to the club! I don’t care if you’re pissy! I was finally moving on from my old life then you came in and ruined it!”

“I ruined it?” Candy glared at Rose (who was much taller - despite Rose’s low heels, because she was barefoot - and she hated it) “You’re one to talk about ruining things.”

“What are you papping on about?” she scoffed.

“If what happened to you was so damaging why don’t you tell us?” She quickly changed the subject, “Hm?”

“Never you mind,” she snapped.

“You want to hear sad, Rosemary?” she hissed, “Things with me and Michelle were great and I was _finally_ getting over you when when Michelle somehow got the idea that I was cheating on her!”

Rose blinked, and Candy realised too late what she said. Unfortunately, she was a horrific liar, and knew she couldn’t just take it back.

Curse her blabber mouth.

As she mentally cursed Rose broke her silence, whispering, “You were getting over me?” God she looked horrified.

Panic flashed through her mind: ‘ _Now you’ve done it Coccino’_

“You need to leave.”

“Wait, when were you ever-”

“Leave, Rose!” It came out broken, from both her sickness and an attempt to keep herself from crying.

Wrapping her arms around herself, Candy rushed into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her, resting against it on the floor, heaving down her sobs.

When she finally heard the door click shut, she ran into the bathroom and threw up.

***

The next couple of weeks were tense.

Killian knew something had happened between Rose and Candy recently, besides Candy’s burst of anger. Emma had jumped back on board ‘Operation Sugar Rose’

_(“Operation Sugar Rose?”_

_“Well, now we have an official name for it. It should sound more...sophisticated.”_

_“And meddling in our friend’s loves lives is sophisticated, Swan?”)_

and they had put their heads together to convince them to get together for the fourth of July - well, the fifth, but beggars can’t be choosers.

Admittedly, it was kind of like it was before: Rose tried flirting every now and then (to an oblivious Candy) and Candy would deliberately try to get close to her and Rose didn’t appear to pick up on it.

Their friendship had almost mended: Candy seemed to have put her bitchiness behind her and Rose had forgiven her, but there was something lingering between them.

Emma had put it down to ‘overload of sexual tension’ and Killian couldn't help but wonder if she had a point, and they had both tired of their mutual longing, bringing them to a state which jeopardised their friendship.

“Look at us! Out and about! During the day! Doing adult shit,” Candy proclaimed as they strolled up to the museum, her newly dark blue hair bobbing in the sunlight.

Rose rolled her eyes, “No one made you come, Candy. And as for this being adult stuff, I've been doing this since I was ten.”

“You poor child,” Candy quipped.

“At least I finished my education,” Rose retorted, stunning Killian, and the other two, by the looks of it. Ok, so maybe their friendship wasn’t so mended.

Candy, it seemed, would not back down, “At least I’m not afraid of my parents! I actually have the courage to stay in the same state as them when I defy them!”

Killian nudged Emma, indicating that they should stay back. He whispered to her, “So much for Sugar Rose”

“You have _no idea_ why I left! You don’t know why I had to leave and frankly it is _none_ of your business so don’t even ask,” she stormed towards the entrance.

“Oh, look! It seems there is a pattern. Rosemary Watson leaves when things get rough!”

He saw Emma twitch beside him; if she was about to run in there and break it up he would certainly not hold her back.

Rose huffed, stomping back to them, leaving her almost nose to nose with Candy, whose heels left her towering over Rose. She snarled, “Untrue. Because even when things get rough, I don’t give up on my dreams; I keep chasing them. You’re the one who gave up, Candice.”

Green eyes wide, Candy stuttered, “I-uh...well.”

“It’s a shame,” Rose went on, voice no longer venomous, but instead soft, almost mournful, “You’re talented, Candy; strong, determined - if you’d stuck it through who knows where you would’ve been by now?”

“I dropped out of culinary school, Rose,” Candy stared at the floor, “I’m nothing special.”

Rose’s turquoise eyes scanned Candy’s face, and it appeared the pair had forgotten about Emma and him. Just as he was about to speak up, Rose made a swift movement, pulling Candy’s face up to hers and wrapping her arm around her neck as Candy’s eyes were blown open in shock as Rose kissed her. Eventually though, Candy appeared to twig what was going on, and her eyes closed. It was only when Emma made a sound Killian himself realised how long they’d all been standing there.

“Oh thank god!” Emma clapped.

Killian laughed, “Agreed, love. Who knew six months could feel like an eternity?”

“The effects of unresolved sexual tension!” she cheered.

“Aye. Let’s hope that the constant unnoticed flirting will stop now.”

The pair had pulled apart when he turned to them, probably awoken by their yelling. Candy looked flabbergasted, turning to Rose, “Hold on; when were you flirting with me?”

“Um, more or less everyday since we met?” Rose chuckled lightly. “Why do you think I was so pissed about Michelle?”

“You were...But you never..”

“I thought I was being obvious! Yet you, the most brazen, blunt person I have ever met has never flirted back, or even picked up on it!”

Candy bit her lip, “Well now I think about it, I kinda did, but I always put it down as you being nice. I wasn't sure if...you swing that way. I mean, I’ve seen you flirt with some of the male customers.”

"Well actually, I _am_ bi," Rose explained. “And for the love of God, Candy, flirting is practically in our job description!”

“So when I told you about getting over you...you weren’t horrified?”

“God, no!”

The two continued to share their surprise and joy, and Killian felt Emma tug on his arm, “Should we go in before the museum closes?”

“I don’t know, love,” he scratched his ear, “Wouldn’t it be rude to see it without Rose? I mean, she did want to give us a tour.”

“Well I don’t know about you but I’m only here for that new pirates exhibition. We can come again if she’s _that_ desperate to show us, but for now I think she’s got something better to do.”

“Well then,” he swung his arm over her shoulders, “After you, Swan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m kicking myself at how slow these updates are getting. First writer’s block, then school had to start up again along with all it’s time consumption. I’m also working on another project...  
> Anyway enough about me. Next chapter: brooding.  
> Hope you enjoyed!


	19. Chapter 18

With a sharp inhale, Killian’s eyes flew open. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, gasping for breath as he tried to soothe his racing mind, which was spinning from the nightmare...or memory.

No, what he saw couldn’t possible be real, could it? Yes, he was sure that was Milah - her face had visited him previously - but what happened was just too outrageous.

He was tied up on a ship (a magnificent vessel that he’d briefly been able to admire before he was tied up) and she was, confronting this...creature. He had a human form but was dressed in a ridiculous suit and had skin covered in scales; honestly, he looked quite like a crocodile. The thing had physically ripped out her heart, no blood, and it was  _ glowing _ . It got stranger, as once the heart was out of her body she didn’t die, didn’t even seem in pain until the crocodile crushed her heart into ash. He held her as she died, hearing her dying ‘I love you’. He had something the beast wanted, so it sliced off his hand. He then attacked the demon with a hook to the heart, but he didn't even bleed. He vowed to kill it, find a way to live as long as it took.

That’s when he woke up.

Gods above, it  _ felt  _ so real; just like a memory. Intense emotions had flooded him; just like a memory. Yet the entire thing was glossy and almost distant, like it was years away.

Funny because he didn’t look much younger than he was now.

And he was apparently in Storybrooke for a few years before his accident.

He let out a heavy exhale as he felt the mattress underneath him shift.  _ Emma.  _ Shifting his focus onto her, he felt his mind begin to ease. This wasn’t the first time he’d woken up from a twisted memo- nightmare, and each time her presence calmed him in the seas of his whirling mind, acting as his lighthouse: bright, reliable, life-saving.

Leaning back down, he wrapped his body around hers, tucking his left arms back underneath her and placing his right over her, hand resting on her stomach. ‘It’ll be fine,’ he told himself, ‘Just a bad dream.’

***

Giggling seemed to be a permanent fixture in The Tavern nowadays; frankly it was one of the most annoying sounds ever.

If Emma had known that ‘Sugar Rose’ would lead to this much overwhelming, sickening sweetness then she never would’ve supported it in the first place.  It hadn’t even been two weeks since they got together yet here they were, Rose and CeCe exchanging cutesy nicknames whilst she and Killian were sat patiently waiting for their drinks.

“Oi Coccino! Watson! Mind coming back to planet Earth for a moment to serve your paying customers?”

Killian snorted behind his prosthetic and turned it into a cough. Rose shot him an icy glare but CeCe just winced and apologised, fetching them two rums. “Here,” she slid them across the bar, “On the house.”

“It better bloody well be,” she grumbled.

“Er, what?” Rose dropped her glare at Killian to give her a bemused stare, “Did you just say ‘it better  _ bloody well _ be’?”

She felt herself flush as Killian and CeCe chortled, quite a sight when her coloured hair bounces along with her. “They  _ do _ say that couples start to sound like each other!”

Giggling, Rose added, “Now you mention it, you have been wearing more black lately.”

Her face reddened and she stood up, firmly saying, “Leaving now.”

“Sorry,” CeCe gasped, trying to regain her breath, “we’ll stop.”

Pouting, she reluctantly sat back down, almost instantly feeling Killian’s arm wrap around her. He placed a kiss on her temple, “Come on, Swan. They’re only teasing. I’m sure it won’t be long until we can do the same to them.”

She loved that he knew how to make her smile.

When their laughter ceased Killian removed his lips from her head and turned to Rose, “Oh, I’m going to have to cancel our plans this Friday.”

“What?” now it was her turn to pout, “why? I’ve been looking forward to that tour for ages and no one else will go with me.”

“Need I point out you’re now in a relationship?” Emma chipped in, “CeCe, it’s now your responsibility to do crap you don’t like to make Rose happy.”

Rose glanced away from CeCe and gave a coy smile. CeCe looked affronted and replied, “Yeah, well, you have to do the same for me.”

“Ah, the sacrifices we make for the sake of a relationship.”

“Watch it,” Emma warned, a light edge in her voice. “So why can’t you go to that...tour thing on Friday? I thought you were looking forward to it?”

He sighed, “I was, but I have an appointment with Dr. Fielding to attend.”

“Wait,” Emma shifted out from under his arm to face him, knowing she probably looked quite puzzled, “The doctor you see once every six weeks for your amnesia?”

“Aye.” He scratched behind his ear.

Her brows knitted together, “Didn’t you go last week?”

He nodded, “Aye, I did. But I’ve been having some...peculiar dreams lately that…” he paused, and Emma knew he’d either be struggling how to word it or whether to tell them. She hoped it was the former. “They’ve felt like memories. I was wondering if that was normal or if there was anything that could be done about it.”

“Really, how bad have they been?” she asked, concerned. Were they really that bad? Why hadn’t he told her? He knew he could wake her up right? She felt...what was this? Disappointment? Rejection?

“Nothing to worry about, love,” he reassured her, which made her wonder if he actually could read her mind.

“So...nothing too horrible?”

He gulped and shook his head, “Like I said, I’m just going to ask a few questions.”

Making an instant decision, she declared, “I’m going with you.”

His eyes widened and he shook his head, “I promise you, Swan, it’s nothing. You don’t need to burden yourself with this.”

“I want to,” she pressed, honestly a little surprised at how much she actually did. “It won’t be a burden, ok? I care about you and...a relationship isn’t just doing crap that makes the other happy. It means we don’t have to be alone, which I’m beginning to see is not a bad thing.”

CeCe narrowed her eyes and exclaimed, “When did you get so wise?” To which Emma shrugged. CeCe rolled her eyes and added, “Also, who’s the lovey dovey ones now?”

Like the mature adult she was growing to be, Emma stuck her tongue out.

***

“Killian! Hey!” He barely heard Emma chase after him, his brain rattling around.

‘ _ No idea what’s going on’ _

_ ‘Never seen anything like it’ _

_ ‘No way to solve it’ _

‘Air, I need air,’ he thought to himself.

“Ok,” he felt a gentle pressure on his arm, and turned to see Emma, warily leading him somewhere, worry evident in her eyes, “Ok. We’ll get you outside.” Wait, did he say that out loud?

Nodding, he let himself be led by her, supporting himself slightly on her steadiness. He attempted to focus on his surroundings instead of what Dr. Fielding had just told him. Colours were in disarray over the otherwise sterile and bland hall; he assumed these were posters of some sort, offering health advice. The place reeked of despair and loss of hope - it was quite chilling.

When the cool city air hit his face he took a breath to try and soothe himself. It appeared Emma had the same intent as she mummered something in a consoling tone. It was bright outside. The again, what else should one expect in July? There was a distant hum of activity; the kind you heard when you were in a crowded place but not paying attention to it. Emma was pushing him down, so he obediently crouched to find some kind of stone for him to sit on.  As soon as he was sat, her hand was gone from his arm and he instinctively brought it up to run his fingers through his hair.

“Hey,” he focused, registering Emma crouched in front of him. The look on her face was more than enough to drag him back to reality. Realising he was focused again, her worried frown cracked into a soothing grin, “Hi.” She brought her hands up, her right drawing circles on his knee, the left reaching to link with his.

“Hello, love,” he rasped.

Much like he did with her, she drew nonsensical patterns on his hand. A comfort; a reminder: saying that you're there.

“They don't know. They've no bloody clue what's wrong with me. Never seen anything like it before.” He snorted, “Frankly I stopped listening after that. I don't need a bloody lecture on what  _ should  _ be wrong and how they'd fix that.” His shoulders sagged, “We're just going to have to wait and see.”

“Oh, Killian,” she sympathised.

He stuck his tongue in his cheek, then soon barked out a laugh, “You want to hear the best bloody part? They want to keep a closer eye on me. Use me as a guinea pig to find a way to fix me for  _ next time _ .”

“Hey!” Emma broke off his rant, “You don't  _ need  _ fixing, ok? Sure you're a bit of a mess but you're not the only broken one.” The hand not linked with his was brought up to his jaw. She grazed her hand on his stubble, gaze not shifting for a second. It stung him that she thought herself as broken, and he went to interject, but then she was talking again, “We don't need  _ fixing _ . We need putting back together piece by piece.” She swallowed, “We put each other back together.”

It was here he realised, both vulnerable and all walls down, that he loves this...outstanding woman.

Yet he knew that despite her openness right now, a confession like that would send her running.

So instead of telling her, he simply gave the widest grin possible.

She briefly grinned back before turning serious again, “Killian, I know that there’s some things in these...dreams that you don’t want to tell me,” he lowered his gaze, remembering how he downplayed them to her “and that’s ok,” she continued. He glanced at her, catching her swallow. “What’s not ok is you lying to me about them. If they’re completely horrible I want to know because I care about you. A lot.”

“I admit, I haven’t been entirely forthright with you about these nightmares. Like I said, I don’t wish to burden you.”

“Look,” her grip on his hand tightened, “if this is going to work we need to be honest with each other. And…” she faltered, and he knew that face: she was struggling with and admission or revelation. “I really, really want this to work.”

He didn’t have a reply. Instead he told her. He told her the most haunting one. Milah and the crocodile creature and the pirate ship and loosing his hand. He told her his fear and his despair and his grief and his anger.

By the end of it, Emma had moved to sit next to him on the stone (a wall, he discovered) to hold him in her arms as tears streaked down his face.

“Killian…” she whispered. “I-I don't…”

“You don't have to say anything, Swan,” he slumped into her side, “you being here is enough.”

He felt her rest her chin on his shoulder as he tightened his grip on her hand. She mummered, “Well it seems I wasn't far off with the pirate thing.”

Blurting out a laugh, he never felt lighter.

***

“...I know these are shabby - you don't need to lecture me - but they're only temporary,” Rose explained, brushing her hands as she finished pushing the shelves on wheels together. Sighing in relief, she made her way back to the table Killian was stationed at. “All we need is to put protective sheets over and we'll be ready to- Killian?”

She halted at the sight: Killian limply slumped over the table, papers everywhere from him presumably shoving them out the way, light groans coming from (what she could only assume was) his soon-to-be corpse.

“Y’alright?” Her heels clicked as she creeped towards him. “Killian? Hey, Killian. Killian!”

He shot up, the noise he made not quite human yet still in English: “ShutupI’mdyingleavemealone,” followed by a collection of snorts, groans and whines.

Rose grimaced, “Still having trouble sleeping?”

He ran a hand through his inky hair, “These nightmare-memories are getting more and more abhorrent with each passing day.”

Dark circles ran under his eyes (or that might have been his guyliner smudging), and he was clearly so incredibly fed up. Internally groaning, Rose glanced at the books she’d just put away. Snapping her gaze back to Killian, he had somehow managed to look even more defeated in the past five seconds.

‘Damn, I’m a good friend.’

Sighing, she trotted back over to the bookcases, gripping one to pry it away from the others. “I’m only doing this because I love you,” she announced.

She filtered through the shelves until she found the books she was searching for, subsequently messing them up in the process. Satisfied with the pile in her arms, she went back to Killian and dropped the books on the table. He merely shot her a curious look, so she explained, “They’re all stuff like: insomnia, sleeping better, lucid dreaming, avoiding nightmares…”

Weakly, he gave her a thankful smile, “I appreciate it. My thanks.”

“Yeah, well,” she shuffled her feet, “I’m a good friend. Now get up and help me clean up these shelves.”

***

‘Thai or Indian. Thai or Indian,’ Emma debated. Killian was supposed to have been over twenty minutes ago to help her then watch a film with her, yet here she was: foodless and Killian-less.

Huffing, she twirled the take out menus in her hands. Where the hell was he? She’d tried texting him twice a minute but nothing. Surely he wasn’t still out with Rose at this time; she was almost certain she and CeCe were going out that night.

She mulled over the possibilities of his location for a while until she came to the conclusion that she should probably go and wait in his apartment - if anything to see if he’d left a note.

Heaving herself off the sofa, she grabbed her spare key and took two strides across the hall. When she reached for the handle she was surprised to find it open. ‘Odd,’ she thought ‘Killian would never leave his door unlocked.’ She pushed it open, figuring he’d fallen asleep or something. Creeping in, she wasn’t fully sure what to expect…

A half asleep Killian surround by about five open books was not it.

He was muttering to himself, then she realised that he mustn’t have noticed her. Cautiously getting closer, she said, “Er...Killian?”

He did quite a magnificent jump, so large that it made Emma herself stumble back. “Swan! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I was wondering where you’d got to. It’s movie night, remember?”

Confusion briefly passed over his face, but was soon replaced with irritation, “Sorry, love. I got a little distracted.”

“I’ll say,” she plonked herself next to him. “What’s all this?”

“Just some books Rose lent me,” he replied nonchalantly.

“Right, and you’re reading all five at once? Isn’t that confusing?”

He raised a brow, “They’re not fictional, Swan. I’m doing some research.”

“On what?”

He stuck his tongue in his cheek, diverting his gaze, “Sleeping.”

Her heart broke for him that little bit more, and she clutched his arm, resting her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Killian,” her voice was brimming with heartbreak and, unfortunately, pity, which he swiftly picked up on.

“I’m fine, love. Really.”

“No,” she persisted, “No you’re not.” She finally understood: that look on his face whenever she divulged a sad tale from her past. The look that wanted to make it all better, all go away. She loathed that she couldn’t give him the first one, but the second one…

“How about,” her hand went for his cheek, and she turned him to her, letting herself wander in those forget-me-not blues, “we conduct a sort of...experiment, to see what helps you sleep.”

“What do you propose, love?” his tone overflowed with curiosity.

Smirking slightly, she gestured to the books, “You and I both try these methods; together. We’ll see what works for you the best, and we can have weird sleep habits together.”

“That sound intriguing, Swan.” HIs fingers caught her blonde locks. “When do you suggest we start?”

“Tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” in one quick motion, she was straddling him, “let’s try exhaustion and satisfaction first.”

She rolled her hips into his and was rewarded by lengthy moan, “A marvellous idea.” He returned her smirk, then his eyes did a weird fluttering thing.

“Ok, what was that?”

He pouted in the most adorably-confused way, “What was what?”

“That thing you just did with your face!”

“What? The wink?”

“That was  _ not  _ a wink, babe: that was a spasm.”

“Was not!”

“Was too, now stop pouting and kiss me!

In a movement that was second nature by now, he lifted her up with her legs around his waist, and carried her towards his bedroom, lips locked on her throat.

“Wait! Both our doors are unlocked!”

“If you weren’t so bloody gorgeous the mood would’ve just been killed.”

***

Feather-light kisses on her shoulder and back eased her into consciousness. Stretching out, she felt a dull ache from last night’s lengthy, strenuous activities hiss through her muscles. Faintly, she recalled a conversation with CeCe about  _ fun  _ and  _ passion  _ leading to better sex, and she normally would have resented her being right, but she couldn’t find it in her to care, about any of it.

Sighing, she turned to meet the alert eyes of her boyfriend, intently gazing at her in the dim light of his bedroom.

“Morning, love.”

“Urgh. Don’t remind me,” she moaned, making him chuckle. Settling herself down, she faced him, a question on the tip of her tongue. “So,” she purred, “did the exhaustion and satisfaction technique work?”

He gave her a flirtatious grin, “Well it clearly worked for you.”

“Killian…”

The grin disappeared and he tapped his forehead against hers, “M’fraid not, love.”

HIs eyes were haunted, clearly affected by whatever it was he’d dreamed. She cupped his jaw and caressed his cheek with her thumb. Licking her lip, she asked in a hushed tone, “Want to talk about it?”

Swallowing, he nodded. “There was...um...I was in a...some kind of uniform. A man was there...I called him Liam.”

“Your brother,” she filled in.

“Aye. I probably called him ‘brother’ more than I did ‘Liam’.” He gave an exasperated smile. “I think we were in the Navy.”

“Suits you.”

“Well, that’s about all that’s normal. The ship had a sail made from feathers and it,” he hesitated, probably trying to grasp at the memory, “flew.”

“Flew?” her eyes widened in surprise. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“Me either,” he agreed. “Liam told me we were sailing - well, flying - to a new land. We were to obtain a plant to use in battle. The king told us that it could heal any wound.”

“King?” Emma questioned. Killian was most likely British, but he wasn’t old enough to had been around when they had a King.

“I know, love. Anyway, we landed on this strange island and met a boy who warned us that the plant was actually a deadly poison.” Shakily, he inhaled as his eyes became glassy. “We - well, Liam at least - didn’t believe him. He believed in our King, We found the plant and I was still paranoid that the boy was right and that our King was actually a coward. Liam told me that I signed up to listen to my King. I told him that it could potentially kill an entire race, that I’d fight my enemies but I fight fair. Liam tried to prove me wrong by…” he choked a sob.

“Shhh, it’s ok,” Emma hushed, “you don’t have-”

“Actually I think I do,” he replied. “ For myself, at least. Liam...scratched himself with the plant and died in my arms almost instantly.”

“Killian…” Emma was never good with words; she hadn’t a clue how to express her sympathy. Instead, she prayed he got the message as she ran one hand soothingly through his hair and the other rested on his racing heart.

“It goes on. The boy appeared and told me there was an antidote and he showed me a fountain. He said that...the waters power could cure any ill, but I’d have to pay a price. I promised him anything. I gave Liam the water and he was revived.”

Emma’s brows furrowed: water that could cure poison? That’s...unusual to say the least.

“We returned to the ship to exploit the King’s cowardice, but the second…” Tears streaked his face. “The second we landed Liam died once again,” he sobbed out. Emma pulled him closer, desperately trying to comfort him.

“Then I woke up and stared at you for a time that one may consider ‘creepy’.”

Emma didn’t laugh. She just held him tighter as her heart continued to break for him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This would’ve been up two days ago if my laptop decided not to have a seizure and go into a coma. If it isn’t fixed soon I’ll have to be on computer share (and the one I’m sharing with is really crap) so less writing time :(
> 
> The next chapter might be a while away, the chapter I’m currently writing is looking to be long, and the techy issues aren’t helping.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


	20. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry this took so long (I did try and tide you over with a deleted scene), but my technical issues have been resolved! (It’s my birthday so I got a new laptop). So as my gift to you, here is the next chapter.

As per usual, Emma and he were in The Tavern before it opened. Unusually, they didn't walk into a Sugar Rose make out session. No, they walked in and witnessed a good old fashioned fight.

“Ah! Emma! Killian!” called an aggravated Candy.

As they slid into their regular spot, Candy asked, “Can we get your advice on something?”

“What do ya say?” Emma turned to him, “Wanna jump in on another couple’s fight?”

He answered instantly, “No.”

She turned back to Candy, “We'll just take a rum.”

Candy opened her mouth to protest but Rose had already passed them their drinks, which he gratefully took, “I swear you two are the only reasons this stuff gets stocked.”

“Yep!” Emma chirped proudly.

“Probably,” Killian agreed.

Whilst he eagerly sipped his drink - in a fruitless attempt to drown away a long day of work and a week of restless nights - Rose and Candy had a whispered conversation that consisted of harsh snaps. Foregoing the rum, Emma leaned forwards (he had to shove down the urge to take a sip of her rum purely to wind her up), clearly attempting to eavesdrop.

It seemed that curiosity got the better of her, and she snapped, “Fine! Just ask us!”

He gave her an incredulous look: she remembered the meaning of ‘no’ right? Luckily for the girls he had no strength in him to argue, so instead he slumped against the bar, readily gulping down his rum.

Trying and failing to conceal a triumphant grin, Candy began to talk, “Emma, Killian; you are both grown adults living in the modern world-”

“I take it back, don't ask us.”

“Swan,” Killian warned. Despite his reluctance to get involved, his raised brow was to remind her that ‘ _ these are our friends so we're going to help them _ ’

She stared him down for a moment, though he knew she was really battling with herself. “Fine!” she surrendered. “But skip to the chase.”

“How do you pay for dates?” Rose asked.

“Huh,” mused Killian, “and I thought Candy was the straightforward one.”

That earned him a sarcastic smile. “Just answer the question, Jones.”

“Bearing in mind that I am a gentleman, Coccino. I-”

“Insist on paying for your male pride?” she sneered, and he'd be lying if he said it didn't sting; he hoped that besides a snarky comment here or there their relationship had actually matured. “Yeah, you're a great help.”

“ _ Actually _ ,” Emma cut in defensively, “he only insisted on paying for the first few dates. Then I paid-”

“Then we began alternating,” he continued, “Then we decided to just split it-”

“Now there's a jar in my apartment to pay for takeout,” she concluded with a grin.

He smirked along with her: it was true that nowadays ‘date night’ just meant not going to The Tavern and staying in instead of going out. It was...comfortable, domestic even, as Emma had described it one night, along with the admission that the thought terrified her, and he reassured her once again that he was  _ absolutely not going anywhere _ .

“You two finish each other’s sentences now?”

“How long have you two been together? A decade?”

Emma shot them both a glare and he tried to conceal a laugh behind his glass. “No,” Emma protested.

“To which?” Rose asked, “The sentence thing or the decade thing?”

“Both,” she growled. “Anyway, why’d you ask? Having issues deciding who pays?”

Candy shrugged, “Just a disagreement at lunch today. Rose paid last time-”

“I ate twice as much as you did, babes. It’s only fair-”

“Ok,” Killian cut in, knowing that these two were too stubborn to let it go, “can we let it rest for today? I think I’m getting a headache.”

“Sorry,” they chorused.

***

Emma had to stifle a laugh at the matching puppy dog looks on her friend’s faces. As Killian massaged his right temple, she reached over to do his left and scalp for him. He thanked her with an appreciative moan.

Deciding to change the subject, she announced, “So, now that you two have stopped being drama queens -

_ (“Oi!” _

_ “Well she’s not wrong.”) _

\- shall we discuss our upcoming trip to Florida?” Emma asked. “If we want to go sometime next month we probably should of booked earlier-”

“I told you,” CeCe rolled her eyes, “I know a guy.”

“Do I want to know?” Rose cautioned. “Wait, don’t answer that. Let’s just decide  _ when  _ we’re actually going - but I refuse to be there when Mockingjay comes out.”

“Really?” CeCe groaned.

“Actually, I’d like to get it as soon as possible,” Emma interjected. ‘Like’ may be an understatement; more like ‘utterly desperate to know what the hell was going to happen’.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Killian smirk, and knew from the enraged conversation they’d had just last week that he’d back them up on this. She should’ve seen his next comment coming, but alas she didn’t and nearly choked on her drink.

“Say, Candy...I’m sure Rose reccomended it to you. Haven’t you read it yet?”

As long as she’d known her, a murderous CeCe was truly a sight to behold. The woman had many different shades of red she’d turn to depending on her emotions. Embarrassed was a rosy pink along her neck and framing her face, reaching around to the apples of her cheeks. Upset/crying was her entire face turning a lovely tomato red. Attraction was a strawberry colour along her arms and chest, which she had seen many a times due to the generous cleavage her uniform gave her. In the cold of winter her chin, cheeks and nose were painted with an innocent baby pink, contrast to the warmth of summer when her whole body was dusted with a deep red.

And of course, anger lead to a fierce scarlet lighting up her neck, underneath her chin and striping nicely on her ‘T’ zone.

“Candy?” Rose said sternly, steering her glare away from Killian. “You told me you’d read it!”

“Yeah, well,” she stammered, “I’ve, uh, been busy.”

“Yeah,” Rose faked being cross, the corner of her mouth wavering, “ _ busy _ .”

“Fine,” she huffed, “when does it come out?”

“24th of August,” Rose recited. At CeCe’s look she merely shrugged, “Are you suprised?”

“I shouldn’t be,” she sighed. “So, if we’re going for just over a week how about…” She paused, fishing in her pockets for her phone to - presumably - check the calendar. “Leave on the fourteenth and be back on the twenty second?”

Emma felt herself go stiff. Fourteenth to the twenty second. Leave on the fourteenth. Not be home for the fifteenth.  _ Miss it _ . Her tradition.

“Swan?”

The concern in Killian’s voice made her realise that she’d completely blanked out; that she’d need a reason.

‘I can’t go then,’ part of her pleaded ‘For him. I can’t.’

***

“This is all I have.”

“Emma,” Killian raised his voice: she was scaring him now. “Love, are you alright? What’s all you have?”

She seemed to register that she’d spoken, and her eyes snapped back into focus. “This is the only opportunity I have,” she explained. “On the f-sixteenth. A work thing.” She gulped, and under the bar he saw her hands shake, “I can’t go then.”

“Oh come on, sweetie. What’s a little hooky ever now and then?” Candy argued.

She bit her lip, voice wavering slightly, “It’s important, CeCe. I can’t miss it.”

“Urgh, fine then,” Candy groaned, returning her eyes to her phone. “My hair’s due a re-dye anyway.” She rattled off a few more dates but Killian heard none of it. His eyes were trained on Emma, whose face was painted was unease. She was lying about the work thing, he knew that much. The question was: why?

Almost as if she felt his fixated gaze, she glanced at him, her eyes begging. She knew he knew she wasn’t being honest, but she was either begging him not to tell, or begging the universe that he didn’t find out.

***

It was a Sunday morning, and he’d been texting Emma since he woke with no reply. Positive that she must be up at this point, he made his way across the hall and knocked on the door, “Swan, are you alright?”

There was no answer, but he swore he heard noise coming from inside her flat. “Emma?” he called, knocking again. “I know you're in there.”

Eventually, a sluggish response came from inside of 7B, “Killian, I don't feel so good. Can you just leave me be?”

His brow furrowed; she’d never admit it, but she loved it the last time he doted on her when she was ill, “You are unwell? I could make you some soup if you'd like.”

“I said j-... No, thanks I'm fine. I just want to be alone.”

Sighing, he decided to concede for now. It was best not to persist Emma too much, especially if she was in a sour mood, “Very well, love.”

Maybe if her came back armed with food and medicine later he’d let him take care of her.

***

It was the third time that day Killian tried knocking on her door. He’d been staring at the ‘7B’ nailed onto the wood for a good fifteen minute now, but enough was enough. If they wanted this to work they would have to see each other at their worsts; and lords above did he want this to work.

He ratted firmly on the door, “Emma, love, you've been in there all day, would you just let me in?”

Silence.

No, wait-

“Swan?”

That was...it sounded like-

“Emma are you crying, lass?”

The only reply he got were harsh gasps and broken exhales.

“Emma!”

“Please,” her cry finally came through the door, “just leave!”

Gods above she sounded heartbroken. He made to grant her wish but paused as an ugly though hit me. He pressed his face to the door, pleading and answer, “Did I-...do you…”

_ Get a grip, Jones! _

“Swan if I did something…” he tried to push down the miserable thought, but he needed an answer, “please just tell me. Don't put up your walls for me love, please.”

***

“Please,” came his deflated whisper. She curled herself tighter against the wood, having moved there not long after he accused her of crying. She rested her head on the wood, torturing herself with his pleas. She couldn’t let him in...he couldn’t see this part of her yet.

Because if he came in...it might end with him leaving.

“Goddamnit, Swan,” the desperation was clear in his tone, “if this is about us just tell me. I loathe to know that I’m the cause of your distress.”

Jesus he thought this was  _ his  _ fault. She wondered how on earth he could think that: he was one of the best people she’d ever met; she was the trainwreck.

“Killian…” She felt tears fall down her face. He deserved so much better than her mess. She closed her eyes and gathered the courage to send him away. He may be mad, and this may be what ended it - but this was better than showing him her scars and then him running because he realised just how deep they run.

“You did nothing, I swear. This is…this is something… It's me. It's something I… I have to deal with myself. Please, just leave me alone.”

He was silent, but not gone; she could hear his ragged breathing and knew he too must be pressed against the door.

“A relationship means we don't have to be alone, remember? You don't need to tell me, but please just,” she heard his hand thump against the door, “let me hold you, be with you through this.”

With a shaky exhale, Emma hauled herself off the floor using the door handle. Once upright, she gripped it for a moment, knowing as soon as she let him in then all of her would be bared to him; no more major, life altering stories. Briefly, she wondered whether this would push him over the edge; make him realise that she was so completely and utterly, irreversibly fucked up and leave her forever.

When did it become that she couldn't live without him?

Knowing it was now or never, she opened the door. Quickly, she spun around and made her way back to the couch, stubbornly refusing to meet his eyes. She heard the door creak shut then felt his weight next to her.

His hand went to her shoulder, trying to pull her in but she shrugged him off, “No.” Braving it, she switched her gaze to him. “Just let me...let me tell you.”

She told him everything; told him with an unsteady voice, shaky hand and wary heart. She told him about meeting Neal at sixteen, their days on the run, the watches, prison at seventeen, eleven months…

Her baby.

The adoption.

How much it fucking  _ hurt _ .

“It’s his birthday today,” she explained. “Every year I...I get a cupcake and make a wish for him. I watch kid movies and think about what he would be like...what my life would be like if I kept him.” Raising her quaking hands, he ran them through her hair. “I  _ know _ how adoptions can fall through. I fucking know that h-he could b-be in the system or a horrid f-family, but I s-still let h-him go,” she sobbed.

She stopped looking at him around the same time she told him she had ended up in prison and still couldn’t look him in the eye. Somehow, she managed to raise her arm to point at the door, “You don’t have to stay. I get that my past is ugly. I won’t be offended.”

‘I mean, my heart will be shattered and broken beyond repair but offended? Nah.’

Crossing her arms, she couldn’t bear to see him leave, just waited to hear the door so she could bawl her eyes out as loud as she wanted whilst still retaining a shred of dignity. However, the creak of the door never came, and she instead felt herself being pulled backwards. Her head hit his warm chest and one arm was tightly around her body, and the other was cradling her head, tips of his fingers twirling in her hair. Finally, Emma let herself weep over nine years worth of emotions over her son, all because of this amazing man accepted her and all her scars. Killian pressed a kiss into her hair, muttering to her, “Oh, Emma....my poor darling...I’m so sorry sweetheart.”

“Cry, my love. Let it all out - but dear gods know I’m not going anywhere, ok? I promise. I’m here.”

“Thank you,” she snuffled out,

_ (For not giving up, _

_ For fighting for me, _

_ For staying, _

_ For accepting, _

_ For understanding, _

_ For listening, _

_ For pushing me, _

_ For opening up to me, _

_ For holding me, _

_ For being here, _

_ For loving me, _

_ For- wait what?) _

“For everything.”

He merely pressed another kiss to her hair and said, “So, Disney films. Are we watching the animated classics or Pixar’s greatest?”

Emma managed a laugh, “I watched Toy Story last year. I was thinking more  _ Hercules  _ or  _ Aladdin _ .”

“Very well, love.”

It was as he shuffled around with her stack of DVD’s did she realise it: she loves him.

She was in love with Killian Jones, the douchebag from next door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!


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